My Colossus

The warmth of my heart’s euphoria,
urges my lips to utter comment.
Silence! For I am but scoria.

O, an immaculate colossus!
You! Pure platinum–nay, rhodium!
I, undeserving to be your truss.

For I am but a vestige of zinc,
a scrap of nickel long forgotten!
This adoration I must rethink.

Or not! Pure gold is not the strongest.
Hear me entreat: I shall be your base.
Us: eternal alloy in congress.

painting1

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