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.