Work of art,
weather the storm.
Persist
by what you consist of.
Tested mettle
in the gale.
Worn away
in vulnerable places.
Stained face,
but still resilient
in the fog of war.
Survive the bombs,
by chance,
or divine hand.
Still bear the marks
of fire,
and the uprisings.
You have watched
kingdoms rise and fall,
but kept true
to the spirit
of whom created you.
Statue.
Covenant.
Contemplating
the terminal state of the flesh,
but never so adorned,
always wrapped
in an oxidized skin.
Few, if any
remember how you looked
when you were new.
Testify,
mightily,
to our stubbornness.
Art,
in all its vulgarity,
eschews the hourglass.
Will you be toppled by children,
who knock down their toy towers
to express
their impotent rage?
Or will you pass
from age to age,
until your meaning
becomes mystery again?
Who’s to say?
Let the days pass by.
You will always
be a magnet to the eye,
and a lodestone
for the soul,
drawing our hearts towards
a work of art.
DJR – 2023
