I feel as though I am still
the world around revolves
detached but not unfeeling
but statues do not weep
neither does one see
what toils beneath the stone
yearning secretly in silence
to escape the agony
held in a time of trial
prisoner of the past
tortured by the present
the future an illusion
like scattered pebbles at my feet
beyond my grasp to taunt me
imagination drives me on
yet only serves to evade my purpose whole
is there a destiny for me?
Or will my features fade and chip away
and crumble in ash beneath their feet?....
