Encased in bronze,
I became a masterpiece.
Death of a child?
A cheating husband?
Only their minds can rush the truth.
My screams are silent and eternal.
The pain immaculate and perpetual.
What am I to them?!
The rain cries on me now—
tears I think I deserve.
My eyes trapped behind cold hands.
If by chance they can hear me,
“Was I ever beautiful?”
"A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure." ~Charlie Chaplin