StasisShopping for art one steel-cold Saturday,
I found a sculpture that displayed a feeling
Of stark despair, emphatic in the way
The subject folded in and downward, kneeling.
Displaying more than craftsmanship and art,
It seemed a shrine to vulnerability,
A
bronzed reminder of the brittle heart,
This beautiful immortal on one knee.
The [glow=red,2,300]Bronze[/glow] wings were tucked, as if he was ashamed
To question the decisions of his Master;
Or, maybe he was chided when he blamed
The Lord Almighty for a world disaster.
With patron verve, I wondered if his eyes
Were just unfocused, wet with tears, or closed,
And if, defiantly, he’d somehow rise
Above the place he’d been
forever posed;
But nothing moved, and nothing ever would.
His pose was fated by the sculptor’s
vision [glow=red,2,300]precision[/glow],
Either in prayer, because he understood,
Or static in a trance of indecision.