An Ode to Soren

The statue sat in thinking pose
long fingers stretched up past his nose
pondering the worlds every woe
as burning sun gave to blustery snow
that affected not his train of thought
no matter how hard the wind did blow.

Across the twisting graveled path
sat a boy, engrossed in thoughtful task
of what the marbled form did spend
so much time lost in mental math
considering or seriously solving
though stuck on the pedestal in the grass.

Was he remembering some love long lost?
Or how creation came with fallen cost?
Or had death covered his closest friend
with blackened breath like creeping moss?
Did he think of the burdened poor
who died from hunger by the score?
Or was he sending prayers to heavens gates
past the fabled golden shores?

But the statue (who is you, Soren, my good man!)
sat untouched by natures chilling fan
to only challenge the mind of passer-bys,
who, on seeing his brow-furled guise
would stop to think and, thinking, stand
with a thousand thoughts passing ‘neath their eyes
engaged with sorting truth from lies.

For when one man thinks,
others join, minds a’brew;
and thinking men, my friend,
is what will always please you.

Advertisements
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: