Mosaic (in) Marble

A facade on his ground
the tiles collected, inconsistent
it is his life in asymmetry

The colors change
shady to dark hue no
pastel save brightness in view

There feels a rough
cracked, caked stone
in each facsimile of form

Sometimes they mold
seldom parched to one's feel
In fact they cut and tear skin

Yet he encumbers for
those who step on these stones
They are marble with glory and form.