More Than Dust

It was gray and cloudy.

The man of bronze, ancient,
Stood above the crowd,
Hand gripping spear, aiming.

The crowd mocked him, jeered,
Hated him for his beauty,
His proud self-confidence.
They cursed him for the pride
That none had ever sought.
Then, when one loud-shouted,
“Men aren’t like that! He’s phony!”
The sun shot through the clouds.

His face flamed and blazed!
His spear-point glittered!
He seemed to move!
And all they shrunk, afraid,
And hurried off, half-running.

His face was radiant, calm;
His mouth and forehead just.
The hero sculptor
Was much more than dust.

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2 Responses to More Than Dust

  1. Elisabeth Casavant says:

    Fabulous! I have the impression of being a child enraptured by a legend being read. Written in exquisite style, this poem will activate the imagination of readers of all ages who are young at heart.

  2. Thank you, Elisabeth. I’m very pleased it made you feel that way, and that you ARE young at heart.

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