Eyes of pearls

Carved into stone
Does my statue
Neither flesh, nor bone
Steal the gaze of many passersby
Who ponder at the expressionless cry

It’s the sculptor who picks
at the cracks
the twisted divine
and what it lacks

Only he who reads
the lines of wrinkles
Page by page,
turning another as he tingles
Can he see the little world
The little thoughts
That this sculpture holds
Within shining
eyes of pearls

A milky storm
Clouded creamy
Hidden softly in the subtle glare
of a gentle warmth
as the
eyes of pearls
sigh lost in stare