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STATUE OF LOVE - poetic monologue by jrqc (stanzas, metaphors, symbolism used)


You banished me from the coldness of your embrace. Despite my begging and suffering, as I tore my ragged clothes in desperation, you showed no mercy and gave me none. My knees were grated and grazed from the harsh ground on which they stood. However, you, oh cold statue named Love, pointed your accusing finger at me, crowning my heart with thorns while exclaiming, "You, my child, the one who denied me! You, the one who refused my embrace! You ungrateful creature! You shall now wander the moors with pain in your heart and inhabit the shadows of my Love!"

Despite the harrowing circumstances, my squirming soul persisted, and with what was left of my heart, I endured the pain. My teary, blurry vision became the prelude to new perceptions. But that was it, for I was scarred. I am scarred. I will be scarred, and no words, neither from that statue of Love nor yours, will provoke a change in the way things are.

I have walked the moors, wept, and wailed throughout the vastness of the shadow of your Love. I have crept and crawled, for my legs could not withstand the pain you inflicted upon me, the way you twisted my heart and poked at my eyes. I looked up and saw nothing but a raveled moon pretending to shine, and everything else was somber and grotesque. Heavy was your punishment, heavy was the burden you laid on my shoulders.

After my bloodshot eyes discerned the hands of time that have guarded my sanity, I kissed the realm of shadows goodbye. I wish I had disposed of my hatred, though—it got entangled with pieces of my sadness and sorrow and cords made from the trail of my tears. It is all I had.

I stand here before you, oh dreadful statue of Love, who pointed their finger at me and provoked a torrent of sorrow and pain in the valleys of my being. Yet here I stand before you, my dear, holding the ashes of my pain and the flesh of my thorned heart—those thorns which you yourself have inflicted. And I say: You were supposed to look after me; you were supposed to love me dearly until all this world and all that is known was over. You, my sweet darling, are the one who forsook me from your heart and mind. You are the one whose eyes looked at me with their penetrating hollowness. You only gifted me your indifference and crumbs of misery. 

Yes, my Love, I loved you so much that the bottom of the oceans do not justify the vastness of my sentiments. My love for you was the sunrise, the light that pervaded my life, and you were the stem of it all. Yes, my darling love, you were the utmost reason for anyone to love. 

We could have transcended what we were; we could have transcended the stars and the infinite space. Yet, you made me drink your disregard, your treason. And it is me who now accuses you of your oppressing punishment. I accuse you, my Love, of being cruel, merciless, and reckless. However, you will not crawl in the shadows; you will not dwell in the lands of your wailing moon. You should receive the indifference of my heart, the emptiness of my eyes, the ashes of my heart, and the dried tears of the pain you gave me—but not my love. Not my love.

Leave me now, for it is all over. Leave me here in the state that I am: frozen and warm. Kiss me goodbye and depart.

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