Divinity

I have not been touched in years.

You have seen me, in hallways. I stand solitary and still. You think nothing of me except perhaps you admire my build. My marble eyes move not in human sight.

Is this to be the fate of a god?

There was a time I had power, held it beating in my palms. I drank of its sweet nectar and ate of its fruit. You worshipped me, gave me your offerings of food and flesh. You were fearful of me, of what I might do should I anger. And I did anger, sometimes. The seas would thrash at your shores and the wind would tear at your skin and the earth would swallow your homes and you would remember me as you wept over broken bodies.

But there were many times that I did love you. I watched as you built and kissed and played and laughed and I laughed along with you. Perhaps I envied you. There were times when I wondered what it would be like, to raise a child, to dance with bare feet feeling the dirt, to labor, to cry, to sleep in the arms of a lover. My love for you was from a distance, and many times it felt as though my love was not understood by you. I hoped you did not think I was only capable of anger. I longed for you to love me back.

You do not worship me anymore. Now I cannot change, for stone legs cannot move and stone arms cannot hold or hurt. I will stay here until my structure crumbles and my dust is spread by the very wind I once commanded. The earth moves without me, now.

Was this the thing I envied, long ago? While you laughed and played you were also powerless, so fragile and mortal. Your bodies decayed where you stood, working until they could work no more and had to return to the soil. I know I will die; even now my body is chipped and the memory of your offerings is a ghost in my mind.