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.