18. the statue.
a statue stands and stares ahead,
and not a thought runs through her head,
the draught is drunk, the walls are red,
the statue sits and stares ahead,
at pale green walls and pristine bed,
can’t hear the words so softly said,
by those once loved the most.
the statue walks and stares ahead,
through summer gardens gently led,
at ancient horrors once thought dead,
and stoops to pick a rose.
the statue speaks and stares ahead,
a teardrop wells for things unsaid,
a momentary glance, a thread,
to a big wide world beyond.