Friday, June 05, 2015

holding down, holding in

the Burghers of Calais by Rodin

What ragged pain grips her,
in bronzed stasis,
                                                                      never to release?
Her hands clamp her head
in the pain of eternity
holding in, holding down,
in the tumult of torment.
This is regret,
this is fear,
this is the done
and the undone,
the unfathomable depth
of lament.
She is frozen
in an unforgiven moment,
in undischarged debt,
in the bleak darkness
of her humanity.
There is no God for her,
she is mere metal
and the portrait
of who I would be.

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