Neoclassical Vantage Point

By igo

A statuesque figure of copper sits atop its granite block, made to fit its unbalanced, clumsy form.
Its years were spent glimmering, shining with its protective outer coating gleaming in the sun.
Not a soul questioned who this statue was, nor if it cared that it was obnoxious-looking.
It was a beautiful statue of mined metals, in a world ravaged by selfishness.

Weather ravaged its sparkle, leaving only the gestural touches and the artistry intended.
Intimate passion being the only remnant of what was grandiose, now pathetic and dull.
Still in its vulnerability, the public scoffed.
As if a statue could compare to their misery.

The creation understood why it was so vehemently hated; it never even asked for a granule of
your love.
When it expects absolutely nothing, the occasional photographer or street artist becomes much
more endearing, regardless how they come for a peek then scurry away without so little as a
conversation.
It wishes to speak out about its loneliness.
Could anyone ever even believe one like it? One made just to look beautiful?

Its eyes scanned the same horizon for an uncountable time, dreaming of what laid beyond.
If this statue learned to blink, could it one day see something new?
For now, however, it was just a matted, oxidized copper work of art in a suffocating world.
One that perceived surface value as all the depth they needed, when in actuality a history of
struggle and strife laid beneath had they only chosen to peer closer between the nooks of
molded metal and hammer markings.

If only you knew, it was in some ways, alive too.