The Figurine: Poetry

She is a figurine,
abused by time 
and forgetful owners


Before she gleamed
bright with the sheen 
of tended love


Now she is no more
than a forgotten relic 
of brighter days

Graying porcelain silks 
and dazzling gems adorn
a once beatific smile


She now spies a silent hall,
empty since employment
was lost to recession

The roaring decade
of parties and decadence
halted abruptly


Now the only remnant
is a stoic figure dressed
in accumlated dust


And only she has survived
here among the ruins
of a broken home.

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