A candle glows
A tiny remnant of the inferno that destroyed and created you
Your figure stands before it, silent
For the past does not speak
And words cannot come from an imagined mouth.
"My Lord," I address you,
And my head bows slightly as if your painted eyes can see.
Reflected fire makes believe you live.
It dances across your gleaming black armor,
Your impossible weapon,
The helmet at your feet, removed to reveal your weary countenance.
I almost dare not touch you
Lest I show some disrespect.
I gaze on you, adoring you as you are,
My empathy running much too deep
I seek to understand you,
Even to feel your pain,
So it has been since childhood.
What is this madness, why do you haunt me so?
Motionless, your figure does not answer.
I am talking to a toy
As if somehow, my words could conjure you
As if somehow, my reverence could make you real.