Wax Museum

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Pried from the confines
Molded with care
We stand so still
We stand so pretty

Shaped to perfection
Unblinking stares
We stand so still
We stand so pretty

Fit for display
With aversion to heat
Keeping our place
For the viewer’s delight

Made from a cast
Such a magical fake
Smiles on our face
Under elegant light

Crafted detail
In a timeless suspense
We stand so still
We stand so pretty

Ghosts of ourselves
But we keep them convinced
We stand so still
We stand so pretty

Screams never forming
Our lips never moist
Hands always reaching
But nothing to touch

Eyes so deceptive
You would think we were real
Frozen in motion
With a destiny sealed

Look underneath
This elaborate skin
We stand so still
We stand so pretty

Something is living
And stirring within
We stand so still
We stand so pretty

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21 responses to “Wax Museum

  1. It’s so interesting to see inside other poet’s minds. So well crafted, but so far from my world it took me aback.

  2. I believe no-ones destiny is sealed VW, for that would mean no way of making your own decisions and choosing your own path through life. …. OK, we all try to live our lives as near to normal as we can, for fear of being thought too ‘different’ … but reading your poem, I saw a production line of barbie dolls, all staring, sans the ability to move without aid… Wax-works waiting for motion and thought … through someone else’s imagination… xPenx

    • Ah, the age old debate of fate, chance, providence, coincidence, and free-will. It is true that we are all taking paths dictated by choice. I would say that along the way we desire to express and define ourself. Just as words sometimes (most times for me) are inadequate manifestations of my thoughts, in the same way I find that people are often in a sense trapped in their own expression, unable to “move” the motions they feel driven to inside. Incapable in some ways of fully expressing. We fight hard to turn emotion and passion into art, and yet in some ways it is a language all it’s own deep inside of us that will always be mutilated through translation. So the true voice inside us fights to move through the rigid confines of our world of shapes and verses. There are some parts of us that will perhaps forever be restricted until we exist in a higher form

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