Marble Fists Knock On Celestial Doors In A Mock Silence

Bronzed figures sprawled in frozen motion stand still in all of their
Sensuousness -
They stand in splendid exhibition.
Stone expressions mask their anxieties, They hope the shadow of
Sanctification will not pass their granite consciences by.

Virgins in marble relief welcome with cool palms children born
From classical wombs.
These same children drink divine milk from St Ann’s white breast.
At the rocking of mortal hands, children Sleep in pagan cribs that
Sway in a worldly way.

In the corner a flaccid Jesus lies limp over Mary’s knees and
Pleated robes.
In a somber stare heavy lids are poised, downcast with the
Perpetuity of time.
A flickering expression trespasses into new realms is caught
Between the sculptors fine chisel and the anglelessness of stone.
It is a sculpted pieta that stands in a pious chapel,
Weathered with antiquity and aching in the permanence of their
Designed equanimity.
-Two figures appear so splendid in their Christian embrace.

The stone seals their cause.
Destined in all dimensions to remain as modeled monuments.
These sculptures are carved sons and daughters of artisans who,
Unlike their subjects will not remain in eternal solidity.
Their stares are fixed by the dexterity of the Renaissance artist,
In the fervent fingers of temporal man.

They are but frozen homage to worldly beauty that bears rotten
Fruit, fruit that shivers on a pagan branch.
The carved clothes worn by these stone disciples will crumble,
Their counterbalance will crack.
They will be ashamed in their terrestrial nakedness.