Stoic faces staring back
On the side of a mountain wall,
Like Jesus' face, clearly showing
Upon the ancient shroud of Turin
Frowning faces staring back, joking,
Pensive, judging, hunting for cracks;
Maybe your polished exterior is flawed,
Maybe that's why they stare at you in awe,
And why they'll never look away
Watching through you throughout the days,
Until slowly, suddenly you look, understand
That they're only the imaginings of a sad man,
Just scars on a surface of stone and sand.
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