Phantom Stains
A hammer strikes the clay again
To smooth a curve that never bent
Two shadows mapping out a flaw
Where nature kept the perfect law (ahhhh)
Is it the fear of quiet rooms?
Or why the sweetest garden ruins?
Chiseling the marble for
a ghost
Breaking down the shape we love the most
An endless search for phantom stains To justify the self-inflicted chains
Measuring the breath
of every word
To find the treason
never heard
(No, never heard!)
Are we rewriting the design?
Or drawing lines where there was light?
(Why?
Why?)
Just a ghost...
That we carved...