A Statue

There stands a statue,

overlooking a city square

standing tall and upright and rigid,

showing a stoic face,

representing the accomplishments of a distant past,

memorialized as a snapshot in time

preserved in chiseled rock.

Many walk by, unaware of its existence

and ignorant of its meaning.

Some seek it intentionally,

others find it unintentionally,

but regardless, it stands there

tall and upright and rigid,

with it’s brave, stoic face,

a snapshot in time,

in it’s hope to survive time

in order to bring the message of the past

to the generations of the future.

It stands in blazing heat and chilling cold,

Through rain, snow, sleet, and hail (as they say)

withstanding winds and leaves and branches and birds...

And yet, no one or no thing can

withstand or outlive time,

for as time rolls on, it takes away

a nick here, a broken piece there,

turning bright into dull
and shiny into bleak.

The statue, up on its pedestal,

in all of it’s perceived permanence,

is still dependent on some one or some thing

to preserve itself, its legacy, its message...

...for without motion and interaction,

a statue is just...

...a statue...

...a fading, crumbling,

but still ironically stoic reminder

of a distant message

memorialized but not immortalized.

For without memory, there is no immortal.

And without life, there is no memory.

And without interaction, there is no life.

And without motion, there is no interaction...

...like...

...a statue...

...overlooking a city square

standing tall and upright and rigid,

showing a stoic face,

representing the accomplishments of a distant past,

memorialized as a snapshot in time

preserved in chiseled rock...

...waiting as long as it can for

motion,

and interaction,

and life,

and memory,

and immortality.