I am the pillar, not the light.
However much I thirst to shine, to beam knowledge and brilliance across the seas, I can never be the crystal.
I am the pillar.
Steadfast, stalwart, dependable, solid. Never wavering, growing only upward, reaching for the heavens but bolted to the ground.
I am the pillar.
Immobile and unwavering, stubbornly convinced of the integrity of my base, the construction of my form. Solid concrete, from heart to skin. I cannot be moved, I cannot be swayed, I am and only am what I am. Extant, immutable.
I am the pillar.
Filled only when others fill me. Remorsefully purposeless without a carefully nurtured flame, propogated by others, a mere shell awaiting a use.
I am the pillar.
Beset by barnicles, moribund in fog. Begat of good intentions, but so singly-purposed as to obsolesce into fallowness. Bereft of purpose.
I am the pillar.
A monument to faith, quaintly atemporal, belying the naievity of woman who dreams but doubts. An obelisk dedicated to frictionless momentum, future forged by the first forward push.
I am the pillar.
Let Alexandria burn and build again.