A ring of thorns about my heart
A garden laid in stone.
A broken beauty in the dark
My prison, all alone.

In the center, a statue dwells
Not a God, a beast, nor a King
But the spirit of the loneliness,
That lies inside the ring.

My throne displays a single note,
The Pillar in the Flow'rs.
Etched into the frigid rim,
"I show naught but sunny hours"

A sun reader, broken, in the night
Now just a shadowed face,
No way to know when sunrise comes,
When to start the race.

Men walk by, the statue weeps,
and thinks of better days.
A tear rolls down her marble cheek,
yet not an inch she strays.

The useless time-piece stands apart,
inside the red-rose wall,
The pointer lies affixed at dawn,
the statue poised to fall.