Man Made (circa semester abroad)

Man, Made

Masterpieces. They have masters.
They had the thought, the dream, the vision, the job.
A creation. Creative touches
-Don’t touch! They are on display.
Unreachable, unworkable, many unforgettable
Do we get it though?
When we stare, photograph, or analyze?
Do we recognize the being?
Or is it just, another one.
One, two, there are more than a few here.
Here- hear the reactions? The attractions bringing the crowd.
The same crowd that passes them by, doesn’t see them for what their worth.
What are they worth? Worth an afternoon? An entry fee?
To watch them be? Or ponder at the purpose, the reason.
What was the intention? To awe at their dimensions?
To read a detailed description describing their state.
But look at the state that they are in.
They are broken, aged, missing arms, legs, limbs.
And yet they are still treated as works of art.
But if art is a sculpture, a figure made with unique features, delicate creatures
Then why is it that the sculptures, creations, masterpieces, of our generation, belonging to our population, lack the popularity of the passer bye’s eye?
Do we not see them?
Do their stains and missing limbs scare us instead of strike us with awe.
Awe, but they are the ones with souls!
Sold out of attention to give to them? Are we?
We, I say we because this isn’t a sermon. Sir, or ma’am that’s who they are.
No different than the we that we are.
Are we supposed to pay their fees or just let them be?
B.C. See them as people, person, per son.
A son , a daughter, with a creative master.
Not Angelo, De Vinci, but a divinity. I believe.
Leave them be? Or believe that they are what I be.
A masterpiece- I have a master.
Who had the thought, the dream, the vision, the job.
A creation- creative touches.
Don’t touch. They are on display.
But maybe for today. We see that they are man, made.