Tasting with your fingertips
Softly tracing painted lips
Kohl limned eyes open, staring still
Waiting for the day when the world will look on her with fonder smiles
Gracing that form that through apocalypse stood, only to find confronted
with broken speech, that one word she was never meant to hear.
She lies now in modern splendor on bed of rocks and broken rubble, contained
in glass cage for world to see.
Subjected to the elements through the ages, she lays in her perfection
still, nails bent from opening the lid of that box, that gave free reign to
all in hell.
Passing strangers gawk at the new attraction, this carven statue
representing another day’s myth.
Too perfect to be stone and yet how else to survive eternity, in this world
of forced change.
Caged behind our stares, loathing us for not believing, consigning her to
this still fate, impassive solitude.
Silently waiting, crying, hating, waiting for that day when her and hers
will no longer be
FORGOTTEN

 
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