The haunted statue,

Waits,

Alone and pondering,

Chipped and oxidized to the point,

Of unrecognizable.

Struggling to stay timeless,

Beautiful,

Waiting.

When will my hero come?

I've seen people come and go,

I've seen what other hide in the dark,

Yet I can't find myself.

Who am I?

The statue,

Though motionless,

Moves my heart,

To unwilling content.

Its stone eyes gaze past the living,

Into my very soul.

Its piercing, quiet, judgemental eyes,

Bring mine to sobbing tears.