Marble feet, carved mouth,
Eyes of stone, hands outstretched
To touch what they cannot,
What is rightfully theirs, what flows
In the chisel-scarred blood,
A broken promise, one of many.
Beating heart, vibrant mind,
Wounded soul, nails eroded by teeth
And by time that punctuates inevitable
The passing of days, empty, equal,
Of the life of a dead statue
murdered by cowardice.
Statue, a fallen warrior
Who have lost their voice for fear
Of speaking; a ghost of themselves,
A shadow sucking up the last glimmers
Of their past life, burning the memories
In a bonfire of cruelty they repudiate.
A grave without headstone or coffin,
A cemetery of thoughts lost in nothingness
Without roots in the soil. There are those who
Would bring you flowers if they knew.
But you, statue, cannot speak.
Tears have taken the place of words.