My bronze heart beats with the rhythm of the foundry.
The memory of molten metal that caressed the dark corners of the mould with fiery fingers at my creation, flows now through pulsing veins.
I am perfect. The loving hands of skilled craftsmen that painstakingly polished every contour and ridge assured me of this.
I sit silently longing for admiration, inviting scrutiny.
Why then do you rush past me without so much as a glance?
Beautiful! You have a way with words x
ReplyDeleteOH wow!
ReplyDeleteNow that was fabulous, you're really good at this!
So pleased you liked the Head's Office 100 word challenge hope to see you again over there soon :) (not in her office for trouble-making though)
Thanks for the mention xx
I like the poetry and the expressiveness of your entry!
ReplyDeleteAww this is sad, but very well written. x
ReplyDelete