by Christina Noll

Created on: September 24, 2009

Perfect statues stand in a flawless line.

Each glorious face is the same,

each dazzling smile is alike,

but all eyes are hollow.

I am not one of them.

I am not a gloriously perfect statue.

My face is worn,

and my smile is lined.

I do not fit this exemplary mold.

I am the freak among

the gods and goddesses of stone.

I do not belong here,

therefore I must go.

After I depart,

will anyone know I even existed?

Will anyone care?

No time to ponder further.

I am running now,

but I glance back.

The statues are cracking.

Stone is crashing to the ground.

A menacing laugh is haunting the air.

I reach the outside.

I am free.

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