The Statues We Built

Image by christian hardi from Pixabay

We’re told they’re misbegotten:

The signs in their hearts,
Born from injustice.

The heat of the sun,
Born from intractability.

The turning of the universe,
Born from man’s collision.

We’re told they’re unloved:

By ancient eyes,
Muddy-colored and blind;

By impervious lips,
Affording less of a smile;

By molded ears,
Folded in like iron fists.

But the present speaks through:

In some way,
Some heard-of way;

But no one listens
To a contemporary vision;

So sculptors must walk
Into the sun;

They have to touch its fire.

They have to fabricate signs,
Make them bold;

And turn the universe
With the muscle of a heart;

And break through and into
The stone that burns them.