Love between the inanimate

I wrote, a little while ago, something slightly similar to this: it was a poem about the conscious soul that could not depart the dead body it was belonged to. This is a little different, however- after reading 'A Scanner Darkly', and musing on the idea of the self without will (which is volition and the desire to live), and so being a live thing, but one that is very much unthinking and has only to stare and stare at whatever it does or does not see before it, unendingly. Well, so this is about that, only it does think. But  then, it's also about an objective view of mankind, and thus, seeing into the very nature of man, and nature, too- all as very cyclical and infantile in the grand scheme of our self-invented master/mistress time. And what more? It's also about how we can only learn to love our own ego, and thus, what we see of ourselves in the other, because even if it is the differences, we love their difference compared to our self. A mirror (which reflects backwards)  of what we are.
This is the sad story of a statue in love:

So long ago

I stood alone,

just stood,

as I were made of stone,

though tempest knocked me,

quakes would shake me,

never did I give up home

never did I know company

other than my own

my eyes were set in place

and I would stare

and wait alone

stare into such emptiness

for that is all

that I were shown;

staring so unceasingly

you’d have thought

I were just stone.

I was made

a figure of virtue;

with his hand

he craft’d me

and soon I did not just resemble,

but rather, I became He.

From thence, I never moved,

never cried nor made the more,

simply stood and stared at pastures

as they changed

and became as before.

Never moving, I saw the seasons

pass slowly, first in awe

saw Summer turn to Autumn,

Winter to Spring,

the seasons, four-

I saw those pastures change

so many times,

so what I once enjoyed

only became a bore.

An endless cycle

ad nauseum…

An endless cycle,

nothing more.

Wearily,

I came to perceive a change

on the horizon: industrialisation,

or so I thought.

Men had come to build up the land

and make towns and

churches, and their

city halls.

Strange, how I came

to find

no beauty in what

was no longer my kind;

all those fleshy pieces,

so fickle in time-

I were to them

as they were to I:

something there to look at,

but to love,

they were blind.

But in their architecture

I did come to see

something so beautiful

it was hard to believe-

brick upon brick,

upon mortar and all,

something so strong

that never could fall!

Those people that move

and are so quickly disposed

would never know love

as a statue does know;

though between two inanimates

no words are passed,

we yet love one another

for the fact that we last.

And over the years

what I did come to see

was nothing short of a paradise

erected before me.

But paradise is not meant

for us earthly few;

we are here to be tested

and tortured anew.

And it took no longer

than a short hundred years

until man was at war

with the man that he feared.

Panic fed upon terror

and the world was ablaze

with bombs that blew up

and fire that razed

and if a statue could blink,

in that time it was gone:

all of the beauty

I scarcely had known.

How I would weep

and shudder

if my bones were unfroze

to see there;

my beloved

torn asunder!

Deposed!

Still, I do stand

with unending gaze

at the desecrated plot

of my happiest days

and should ever you think

do not be alarmed

that the coldest of statues

may house a still beating heart.