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The tears of an ancient gargoyle,
perched on a ruin's wall,
frozen there by nature's hand,
condemned to never fall.

The gnarled and eerie features
of it's stony, staring face,
though worn by time, still give us pause
in this cold and lonely place.

What ancient craftsman fashioned this,
what nightmare caused his mind,
to give this creature angel's wings,
then sculpt it's face unkind ?

What spiteful muse did whisper
and guide the maker's hand
to loathesome brow, to leering grin
and evil crouching stand ?

Eyes that only seem to glare
in anger at the fate,
that gave it only ugliness,
then made it sit, and wait.

In cold eternal silence,
it's tears the only trace,
of a soul forever hiding,
the truth, behind the face.