Stone

You tell me nothing is concrete,
Yet here I stand, a stone wall, before you...
Unmovable by winds or flames or fuming buldozers
Always awaiting your newest command.
I am nothing but a figurine poured out of cement
Into a mould that you created
And out of marble you carved my every detail.
Why don't I please you now, my mercurial master?
Have I withered with time?
Have the sands of the damned devil smoothed out my edges?
Have the fissures of your manhandling left grooves that cannot be repaired?
Well there are masters in the world that do fix up the fissures...
And by their hands I will be adorned with liquid gold,
They will sharpen my details once more with their cizels
And lay me down to rest in the park.
You told me nothing is certain,
Yet here I still am, an unmovable wall
Ready to withstand whatever comes at me,
All while still waiting for my masters silk hand.