The crystal statue

One day, not too long ago, a statue was created,

an astounding statue, made of the clearest crystal, to the likeness of man.

It shimmered in the dusk-lit workshop's last rays of sunshine

and the sculptor took a step back with a smile on his face, pleased with what he had wrought.

This statue, he knew, almost as if ordained by God himself,

would never meet its match, never see it's equal, never be surpassed.

The sculptor slept peacefully that night.

Dawn broke and the statue was loaded onto a wagon to be brought before the mayor.

It was a long ride from the sculptor's house to where the mayor lived

and with each passing mile, the sun overhead grew warmer and brighter,

the statue sparkled more brightly as if imbued by living light

and the crowd gaping in awe grew and grew and grew some more.

But oh tragic misfortune, the sun was nowhere near its midsummer peak yet

and as it rose higher and higher, the nimbus of light grew around the statue.

From a shimmer to a sparkle, from a sparkle to a flare, from a flare to a blaze!

So bright was the light that shone from the most beautiful of eyes

that it stole the light from the eyes of those who beheld it.

People fell down in the street, grasping their eyes,

now lost in total dark, where before the most angelic of lights had shone.

Others, who had averted their gaze timely, cried out in terror...

... and then the first rock hit the statue.

It was unknown who had thrown it and by the end of the day

it would matter not anymore for many more were soon to follow.

The sound of stone hitting the crystal, time upon time upon time,

was beyond any quill or pencil to capture, so terrible was its beauty.

"It sounded like a band of angels, shedding tears in heaven," a poet later wrote.

And who knows, mayhap they were, mayhap they were...

When the sculptor learned what was happening to his statue on the wagon behind him,

he raced the wagon home, trying to save what he could of his purest of creations.

But alas, it would be for not.

When the sculptor arrived back at his house, the statue was no more,

shattered fragments of a shard of paradise were all that remained

and the sculptor sank to his knees and wept, knowing that he could not,

not with all the glue, supports, wires and what not,

recaputre the brilliant essence that had been lost,

lost because it was too beautiful to behold.

Mdg 29-1-2003