Statue

[Delta40]

High on the parapet sit I who
Looks forever toward the sky
And the voices below, bellow
'Never look behind!'
For I cannot be defined by my past
Though I ask myself
As the elements strip away
A little more of me
Each day, where did it go
All the gilding and gold?
I am a sculpture
Crumbly and cold.
And who said nothing can stop you
Except for yourself?
Some gargoyle mouldering on a shelf.
I am a sculpture shaped by the weather
My hands are rough
My skin is like leather.

[Pompey Bum]

I love "the voices below, bellow." It gives some of the anxiety in this poem a (slightly) lighter touch.

May I riff?

The voices below me bellow
In my adobe abode.
My son, a commodious fellow,
Never gets off the commode.

Heh heh. Sorry. :)

[kiz_paws]

High on the parapet sit I who
Looks forever toward the sky
And the voices below, bellow
'Never look behind!'
For I cannot be defined by my past
Though I ask myself
As the elements strip away
A little more of me
Each day, where did it go
All the gilding and gold?
I am a sculpture
Crumbly and cold.
And who said nothing can stop you
Except for yourself?
Some gargoyle mouldering on a shelf.
I am a sculpture shaped by the weather
My hands are rough
My skin is like leather.Loved this, Delta!

[Danik 2016]

High on the parapet sit I who
Looks forever toward the sky
And the voices below, bellow
'Never look behind!'
For I cannot be defined by my past
Though I ask myself
As the elements strip away
A little more of me
Each day, where did it go
All the gilding and gold?
I am a sculpture
Crumbly and cold.
And who said nothing can stop you
Except for yourself?
Some gargoyle mouldering on a shelf.
I am a sculpture shaped by the weather
My hands are rough
My skin is like leather.
I sometimes feel like that.
Good to see that your voice remains strong!

[fudgetusk]

A poem meant for Lot's wife?

[Jerrybaldy]

Very good, my old friend. I’d turn the final line from a similie to a metaphor - ‘my hands are leather’ reads better. But only IMHO as bar used to say. :)

[tonywalt]

High on the parapet sit I who
Looks forever toward the sky
And the voices below, bellow
'Never look behind!'
For I cannot be defined by my past
Though I ask myself
As the elements strip away
A little more of me
Each day, where did it go
All the gilding and gold?
I am a sculpture
Crumbly and cold.
And who said nothing can stop you
Except for yourself?
Some gargoyle mouldering on a shelf.
I am a sculpture shaped by the weather
My hands are rough
My skin is like leather.

Love love the imagery in this poem

[Shadowlight]

Love the easy flow of words and imagery. Very nice indeed