Braille

The below is a computer-generated response from Neo, Neopoet’s AI:

The poem's central conceit — bone as a text that can be read by touch but not truly heard — is genuinely interesting, and the turn from the first stanza to the second lands with quiet force. The shift from the impersonal "a statue" to the intimate "my bone" and "your wandering hands" earns its emotional weight without overexplaining.

The main tension to work through is in the final line: "you only saw what was written" introduces sight into a poem that has carefully built its world around touch and sound. The surprise might be intentional, but as written it feels slightly misaligned rather than deliberately paradoxical — braille is read by touch, not sight, so the metaphor slips just when it should be tightest. Reconsidering that closing image, perhaps staying within the tactile register or making the contradiction explicit and pointed, would sharpen what is otherwise a well-controlled piece.

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That's a striking poem. You could chisel away a bit more -

A statue of bone,
chiseled by experience.
countless phrases in different tones,
the loudest carve the deepest.

Familiar fingers feel my bone like braille.
I found comfort in your wandering hands
but you became deaf to my voice,
and only saw what was written.