Stone plinths carry the weight of a cold—
Marble mother clinging to a son in rags;
Covered in blood and thorns and sorrows.
Lying daffodils at their cold carved feet—
Among the cold plethora of your prayers.
Feeling the weight of tired gazes on my back;
Bathing in tears and sympathies and blessings:
They are cold ocean waves and blood covered thorns.
They are as comforting as my speaking to lifeless marble.