statues stare down at me
looking for a purpose
they're defined, carved with intricate detail
their hair chiseled into smooth, flowing waves
the granite polished to keep their form
one is looming, hair down to their knees
graceful and yet raspy, watching from a distance
another is marble, yet largely imperfect
the cracks of time have assaulted it, expecting me to repair them
one is a construct, a heaping pile of scrap
created from the lies of a desperate king
they look down at me, asking for my purpose
expecting for a will to come from somewhere
but it does not show
so they start to search for it.
prodding one place, poking another
searching for a means to keep me alive
but they cannot find one
so they search deeper
they start to tear at flesh
searching under it for anything of worth
the blood starts to stain the floor
unaware, they continue
they start to cut pieces off
searching inbetween for a passage to the grail
there is none
and there is no grail
they remove the legs first
and the the eyes
and then the pelvis
and then the organs
the pieces lay on the floor
mangled and bleeding
and they have found nothing
i pick myself back up
knowing they will try again tomorrow
knowing they are unaware that there is no grail
knowing they are unaware that they are statues
and that i am the liar that remains by them