Parts Of Me Poem by Maynard Hartman

I just woke up. So dead, so cold.
A pat on the cheek, and I was told,
'Don’t worry, you’ll see. It will be nice.'
Then he placed my arms into some ice.

Sad I felt, and all alone.
I saw a flash, as he began to hone,
the shiny thing used to saw my bones.

The last details I can clearly recall,
is that man nailing my things to a wall.
And his clammy, cold, hand grabbing
my still beating heart.
While babbling about his fabulous art.

You’d think that I would have felt some dread. You see, I wasn’t completely dead,
as the man detached my head.

He made a statue for all to see,
using all the parts of me.