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I'm the daughter of marble, smooth and cold,
Still intact, a thousand years old;
Maybe older, born when goddesses lived,
Revered despite their adulterous sins.
My mother, the statue, dresses in white,
But tarnished with smoke as marks of her slight.
As years pass by, she gains more and more gray,
Reflecting no light at the wake of each day.
The only proof of her extravagant start
Is unscathed hands and a diamond heart.
Her hair catches rain in the eye of each storm
And it rolls down her face, uncried tears, running warm.
As I approach her to soothe her, she screams, "Keep away!"
And, selfish somehow, I choose to stay.
She extends her white hands, bracing gray feet,
Reading to resist, refusing defeat.
Forgetting her wings, her hands push me back,
Forming a million tiny cracks.
And when I step away they crumble apart.
But at least she has a diamond heart.