A Roman boy at The British museum.

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.

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