Scriptures of a Statue


Written by Simon Colburn, Writer

I saw her today.

Her golden braids and jeweled, chiseled stones

And yet her innocent soul wanders about.

Who will take her?

Who shall claim her?

Who shall win her?

Who shall devour her?

As I think about her, my life with her, young does and grown burly bucks,

My thirst quenched, my hunger dry, my life becomes weary.

For 16 days have I, myself, born and wandered and pondered about the nature of humanity, and I see it now.


before my humble eyes.

“Golden braid,” I’d say,

“Near me, for I shan’t dare touch you, but kneel beside your gleaming pillars, and rot for you, who walk elegant in the moonlight.”

That she whom shine upon me from day and night, I wander in depression, Shall I have her today?

Falling stars and burning in the radiating pressure of the sun,

Oh doth she dare look upon me?

A statue, frightened of her? Frightened of me?

16 weeks hath walked about.

Oh how she looks, her eyes tell stories as her tongue rolls to release her sweet gentle breath.

Oh have I not the courage, the deepest desire for her?

“Oh Golden Braid”, I’d say.

“Near me, for I shan’t dare look upon such an indescribable being, but dare confess, that I hath fallen for you.

“My dear, my love, my beauty, my bird.

“My lovely bird, who shan’t fly away into another cage, but thou shalt tune my ears with her endless breath of chorus.”

“Oh Golden Braid”, I’d say.

“Am I not enough for you?

“Shalt you compare me to morality and ethics?

“Shalt you fall for me?

“Shalt you praise me for my powers of wisdom, honor, and strength?

“Shalt you wonder that I, the dragon that guards your cage to sound your love and grace?

“Curse you!

“Curse you for you shalt not despise me!

“Shalt not take me!

“Shalt not love me!

“Shalt not yield to me!”

“Golden Braid,” I’d say,

“I am lost.

“Another being, just an elegant child, and I an ancient scroll, waiting to be read, hath lost my “history.

“And lost my eyes.

“Of the most simplicity, that I shall, with doubt and disbelief, that I loathe you and wish that to strike “you down, with me heart-in-heart and words.”

“Golden Braid,” I’d say.

“Do not near me, for I am tired and old.

“I am dust and the poisonous fumes of hatred and despair.

“I shan’t dare place you, I shan’t dare touch.”

“What is love?” I ask

Without knowing, “What is love?”

16 years hath past.

And not a day hath she aged.

Her jeweled chiseled eyes, and gleaming pillars of rich stature.

And what of I?

Hath I ask, just one, for one request.

What is love?

Nor a prisoner.

Nor a serpent.

What hath I become?

What is love?

This shall be my day, the last battle, my dying blood.

Shalt not yield to another, shalt not honor progeny,

Shalt not succumb to Golden hairs, but Golden Braid.

I saw her.

Golden Braid and jeweled, chiseled eyes.

Fallen for those who forsake her, but shan’t to those who despise and desire.

My heart and your heart touched.

There is no more for me to tell you.

I felt for you.

I fought for you.

I dedicated my life for you.

And I hath lost.

Lost of all I had.

And now I realize,

The creator hath given us life.

A life to live and experience.

My time is taken, and so is yours.

The Sandman rejects my plea for more.

And Death takes me once more and no more.

But I, and not you.

For you shan’t ever be taken, but always fall.

And I hath fallen and shall never arise once more.