A thousand stone heads are stuck in glass cases,
Their blank almond eyes and broken stone faces,
Stare me down as I stand here,
On my plastic plinth,
No bigger than the human hand that made me.
A Halo of rusted curls, frame my tiny face,
A beatific smile is etched upon my lips,
Lips that never breathed the air, nor kissed another.
Snake hips that never slunk,
Iron brown skin that never felt a touch,
A lean and languid body, that never grew old,
Head thrown back in thoughts that never came.
An altar boy to a crumbled god.
A votive offering,
A pocket trinket,
A smugglers ransom,
An art dealers pride,
A museum piece,
I have passed from hand to hand,
In the blink of the universes’ eye,
For two thousand years
Stood Iron and strong
Through every passing moment
And felt none.