Hope & Atrocities [I]

Conceive me as a dream of stone: my breast, where mortals come to grief, is made to prompt all poets' love, mute and noble as matter itself.

With snow for flesh, with ice for heart, I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx begrudging acts that alter forms; I never laugh, I never weep.

In studious awe the poets brood before my monumental pose aped from the proudest pedestal, and to bind these docile lovers fast I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:

The timeless light of my wide eyes