He stands there
Full to the brim with sins
Overflowing with filth
Regurgitating ancient lies
Flies play around his head
As roaches scurry softly
Legs scratching his bulging exterior
Dull gray
Unfeeling he stands there
A censor in a godless world
Translucent robes
Adorning wilted shoulders
A blank stare
Scanning the bleak horizon
Void of promise
Dead to man
Lost in time he waits
Burdened with silence.
Moonlit Poetry 