by archer

i am a clay statue, suspended in elegance.
how sweet, how lovely, for one's job to be to convey emotion endlessly.
how sweet to be carved carefully by a master craftsman,
every vein, every muscle, and every crease on my body
unconditionally beautiful just because of the amount of thought.
to be admired by all the world,
to be critiqued,
to be complimented,
to teach,
to be taught--
such is the life of a statue. 
to transcend generations, allowing my paint to chip,
allowing my features to weather, because it conveys wisdom.
to taste the lips of the early Roman soldier and 21st century fashionista,
to watch empires rise and fall.
to be stared at by the adoring eyes of a child
and scoffed at by the middle aged man.
to love and be loved.
to be human.



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