LAST CYCLE © 2008
Reading done only in statues,
Streets with plaques, worn inscriptions.
The past etched in stones that whisper,
Reminding of poets, writers who endure.
They suffered in anticipation, with exposed souls,
Each verse, each line, a proposed anguish.
Now, only the grime of time persists,
Erasing the discontent that still exists.
The wind blows over the faded words,
While the shadows of the statues remain silent.
But even if time erases what was written,
The silent pain remains in the infinite.