So this is Pegasus, chained to Earth? Sculptor's whimsy, cast in bronze, connected to water and spitting in the wind. And standing silent, Neptune's nephew, staring skyfull, whip in hand- doomed to fixed gaze and colder heart. Nightmare vision- Is this dragon, horse, or fish? Or who is he, metallic ribcage, futile youth? Perhaps the artist had bad dreams. Who paid the bill for this eternal fountain? Whose coin transmuted to statue? Why is it here? Whose story is told? Beside such immobile angst, grass glows in sun beam, illuminating spray: Vast pot holds tulips, markers of wealth. 'Tis a place where influence waned, indulgent extravagance faced down tax- and lost. Now simply memory, bronzed. God has placed eternity in our hearts- we long to last, to survive, make a mark. Generations fade as does our fame. We build, we sculpt, we carve time with stone or metal, even flowers- so we are remembered, missed- perchance, loved? Arc of water, droplets sinking swift in pool lined with stone and lead; vain refreshing of history's pages. There is still living, and garden, and hope; and we gaze blankly at a coded message that says... I mattered once, and maybe still. What memorial, engraved, will tell my tale? I doubt a statue be raised for me! Hush, my soul, pay that no mind. Though I live as servant, and speak of grace unless my heart beats compassionate love- then my words fail, and pass to dust. Here, then, Saviour of creatures and all, be the Craftsman who shapes my life, my deeds, and my sculptured heart. Let Living Water shoot forth in peace to cool the eyes and feet of pilgrims. May I testify to Eternal Love! Let that be memorial enough.
(c) 2021, Richard Starling.