The Statue

Here I stand
like a statue
hewn from stone.

My heart is hard
and cold like a
gravestone in winter.

My eyes are frozen
seeing only the sadness
of the lack of love.

My fingers are icicles
sharp and unbending
useless for helping.

How did things
come to be this way?
I feel utterly alone.

I wish things were different
from this sorry state.
Why am I here?

Where do I turn when
even God himself
has turned away?