We die from within and just like our statues
We dedicate to our eternal memory,
So many trinkets sculpted
From concrete, brass, plaster and wood.
We rot; inside, outwards
And so when Death
Is finally displayed on our faces,
Are suddenly free to express with sheer amazement
That they never really knew us
All that well…
2009 © T.S.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.