Statues

All statues are born the same -needle-thin, flawless and without shame, Photogenic and cute, with a smile For the few moments while they haven't a frame.

Everyone likes sparkling things, Yet only the beasts offer the rings Once clock strikes noon and the chances fade, Most of the butterflies lose their vivid wings.

Years pass, all's covered in sand, Life gets rusty, depressing rebrand, Nothing, nowhere and no time to hide, One never receives a single helping hand.

All statues are lost the same -crumbling and without their own name. Devastated by being let down, They freeze, losing the metaphorical game.