We die from within and just like our statues
We dedicate to our eternal memory,
So many trinkets sculpted
From concrete, brass, plaster and wood.
We rot; inside, outwards
And so when Death
Is finally displayed on our faces,
Our friends
Are suddenly free to express with sheer amazement
That they never really knew us
All that well…
2009 © T.S.
Ted Sheridan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/knock-knock-10/
