Ekphrasis: Capitoline Museums

Stringing his bow,

preparing his weapon,

he is looking for his prey.

His pupil-less eyes,

are more piercing than a hawk,

and his focused face is frightening.

His current colorless state,

does not deteriorate,

the liveliness inside of him.

Who will be the lucky one this time?

He asks himself with excitement.

The man with the hat?

The girl with the dress?

The options are endless.

One quick hit,

and just like that,

they will have eternal happiness.

However, the intentions behind

those piercing eyes,

might be more mangled than a lion’s mane.

To him, love is a game,

a way to blow off some steam.

But for them, love is their lives.

His quiver is hung on the tree stump beside him,

a quiver full of people’s livelihoods.

One arrow,

One good shot,

Why should that determine their emotional endeavors?

Perhaps the cold marble,

which constructed his body,

also constructed his heart.

Such cruelty seems more likely,

from a god of death,

than from a god who stands for love.

He grips the bow so nonchalantly,

while the people try to grip onto

their free will.

The small, delicate, wings which support his back,

are reminiscent of a fragile butterfly,

but he is the one who will break apart their fragile hearts.

For what is the point of love if you cannot choose it?

You want to be love struck,

not struck by his arrows of all determining certitude.

Why not just strike you all the way through the heart

and put an end to it?

Capitoline Museums, Sunday, May 26th

Statue of Eros Stringing his Bow

Marble, 2nd cent. A.D. after a work by Lysippos (4th cent. B.C.)