solar atlas
Deity statutes dripped in luxurious gold
Scintillating under the balmy sun
Many may not concur with the tinted shades I have
Nonetheless; they appear shinier with them on
Dazzling worshipped stars
Emiting light that travels far
Burning so vividly bright
As they slowly die from it on the inside
Picking it all up on my zooming radar
As I travel close to collect the data
Noting every scratch and dent
And how the gold burns, yet never melts
These sightings cause my glasses
To travel to my twitching nostrils
I take in the fishy aura around them
And the stinging, stench of a sulphur smell
That reddens my unfortunate nose
A putrid, rotten golden egg
Spoils my chimera and perception of them
The "gold" crumbles off their fingers
It reveals pink, fragile flesh
I was fooled into thinking they were genuine gold with no stink or imperfection
But I guess these statues are people, too
Full of scars and dents like me and you
It all becomes more clear
Now that I see what really is in my view
In its dim, withering reflection
Appears someone who is equally as make believe
wooden basalt