The Marble Man

There stands a stone inside a park where all the children play.

The moon shines bright, the sun comes hard, it stands both night and day.

The face that’s etched upon the rock was made to kindly stare,

Across the distant years to find, a someone who’s not there.

His granite hand is held palm up, as if in furtive need.

The kneeling form, so like in prayer, for someone to take heed.

The world around him, so alive, but yet he stands alone.

He’ll never leave his patch of earth, he’ll always be just stone.

The sculptor surely never knew, his deed was born the day,

They set him down upon the grass, to watch the children play.

Or did he know, the heart inside his crafted stonework form,

Would be entombed, for evermore, alone against the storm?

Time whips hard against this orb, that slowly turns in space.

As time and space have no point upon the upturned face.

But those who stand there closely, and watch year after year.

Will see not rain upon his cheek, just granite’s single tear.

There stands a stone inside the park where all the children play.

The moon shines bright, the sun comes hard, it stands both night and day.

The face that’s etched upon the rock, was made to kindly stare,

Across the distant fields of time, for something that’s not there.

There stands a stone inside us all …