Monday, April 9, 2012


Pygmalion built himself a girl
and perfect in all ways was she,
with shapely silent marble lips
and eyes that gazed on only he.
A goddess saw the sculptor's heart
and as a gift brought breath to her,
but it could not have been too long
before he knew what he'd prefer.
For Galatea had been his,
the only woman he could own -
the only woman he could love
was but a woman built from stone.
The woman had a mind and thoughts
and she could speak them as she pleased.
Her hands could touch the things she liked
and now her feet could walk with ease.
Pygmalion feared she'd walk away
and leave him if she had the chance -
for certainly, if she were free,
she would not choose him for romance.
No other mind had chosen him,
no one could love this sculptor's soul.
He thought to chain her if he could
and keep her thus in his control.
But over time he learned to love
and learned to trust his marble bride,
for they did quarrel now and then
but never did she leave his side.
Through freedom Galatea loved
but her Pygmalion could not own
yet when she was his to possess
her very heart was only stone.

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