from this place.

Static man,

turned to stone,

oh, so long ago.

The vines and briars

grow all over you.


to rigidity.

Sun and wind

have scored you.

Snow and rain

have weathered your face.

Some would say

you look good for your age,

but you’ve been still

so long,

what does it even matter?

Achieved your pinnacle

and stayed in place,

or faced the Gorgon

without your mirror shield.

This fate befalls

many who have tried

to do

the impossible.

Success or failure,

the outcome negligible.

First the feet calcify,

and concretions take the legs.

As if in defiance

of the reality,

the arms and torso

become frozen

in a moment of movement.

Your face

looks reflective,

eyes calm,

as if accepting your fate.

No longer a man,

but a moment,

trapped in white marble clast.

I wonder

if you still wonder

of the world?

If you could,

would you take

another chance?

Or does residing


as a monument


every hope and desire?

Is it my imagination,

or does some spirit

still stir

deep within you?

Is there still something behind

those slate-grey eyes

that seeks

a different fortune?

Just as I turn to leave,

from the corner of my eye,

I think I see

your features change.

I think I hear

a sigh.



DJR – 2023

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