Erosion of Identity

In the hollows of decay, a face once whole now crumbles, A silent scream etched in stone, a testament to time's cruel hand. The eyes, once windows to the soul, now sealed in eternal sleep, While the nose, a beacon of breath, is fractured, a bridge to the unknown. The mouth, a cavern of secrets, now gapes wide, A void that speaks of loss, of stories untold. The flesh, once alive with purpose, now dissolves into fragments, A reminder that even the strongest can be worn away. Yet, in this decay, there is beauty, a haunting grace, For in the erosion of form, the essence of being remains. It calls to us, urging us to see ourselves in its cracked visage, To confront the fragility of our own existence. For in the ruins of identity, we find our shared humanity, A mirror that reflects our fears, our hopes, and our resilience. This is not just a sculpture, but a mirror to the soul, A call to remember that even in decay, there is meaning.