Geppetto's Son

[Aklerc]

With pine, his hand echoed of Great Design;
He sent Her laws insane and minds entwined.
That soul of his fell like a leaf astray,
Even when he reached to catch his newborn day.
(That day we wake on Earth - a day forgotten.
To 'real-born' that memory is a lost one.)

Now Instinct whispered [laughing] "Incomplete."
And any pride he had sank to his feet.
He kept his gaze ahead and sad till dark,
Then raised his head against the struggle of his heart.

Solitude paints his shadow with fallen splinters,
And still more make up the prints upon his fingers.
"I am real" he said, holding out his wooden hands,
"It's flesh that makes the boy, and it's flesh that makes the man."

A puzzle is grown in the garden of crossed lives,
The mind in tangles where ruthless weeds have thrived.
Still a boy, still a son, though his body's carved from wood.
It is they, not Pinocchio, who have misunderstood.

[Bernie812]

I like this. Its cool how its describing his un-flesh-like qualities, but saying that it takes more than flesh to be real. Something deeper, yet unseen, is just as real as something seen.

It also brings about the ideas of or work being our 'son' or lineage. What we have left after we're gone for others to see, and remember us by.