Renaissance

There are some in this world who long to be gargoyles 

grotesques and Gorgons with rough, jagged claws 

hides thick and tough as stone 

silently soaring through dark clouds 

until leathery drums of wings and triumphant shrieks 

announce that it is too late to run 

If kept for too long 

our hearts begin to bleed 

It leaks out our eyes and onto a page 

a canvas, a notebook, a fabric, a frame 

all covered in drool from the ulcer of our souls 

hacked up and spit out 

the messy birth of doppelganger art 

creations that make our skin shiver with gooseflesh 

And we tremble with adoration

releasing corporeal thoughts wrecked with emotion

manifestations of our vulnerable minds

expectantly--but sick with shame

We make monstrous paintings, poetry, plays, books

Embedded with teeth from melancholy grins

and flock to libraries, churches, museums

Because we are the guardians

and no one knows more of keeping beauty shut within

than one who longs to be a gargoyle.