My form is made of porcelain;
My hands are marble bars.
My eyes are beads of liquid glass;
My feelings come in jars.
A trodden path is at my feet;
It stretches smooth and straight
Where other statues, stone like me,
Have passed the same cold gate.
There must be something different;
Some wilder path untrod.
I yearn for distant stars untouched
Save by the hand of God.
Thorns rake the earth outside of the path,
For the wild unknown nurtures strife.
But following others, I’m losing myself,
So b r e a k me,
and bring me