Silence Of Immortality |
| by Shane Downing |
Marking a polished stone lay a powerful statue,
Made of the finest metal and covered with gold,
Wrapped in utter warmth when the skies are blue,
A beacon of nature and man when it is cold.
A casual brush of fingertips will reveal the name,
One forgotten in time and glory since conquered,
An arrogant, bold figure of history all the same,
A voiced cry, reaching the soul without a word.
The dark hair is remember'd no more here,
Acts of honor and virtue long gone to the grave,
Only fresh grass and pavement lie near,
A faint reminder of the free and the brave.
Etched lines of sorrow and thought line the face,
A sword lies tucked beneath a muscled hand,
As if ready to reach out and conquest the place,
With destiny left to dissolve into fine sand.
Plenty of people by this way in the afternoon,
They admire the love and knowledge of the evening,
Weep and shout with grief to the rising moon,
But in the shadows following they have nothing to bring.
A young woman of no special means comes forward,
Eyes widening at the majestic image of a warrior a while,
She leaves a kiss and a rose and departs with no word,
Just before the statue's solemn grin comes to a smile.
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