Unfamiliar faces

A spur of the moment thing, just like most of my poetry.

The unfamiliar faces blending into nothing,
bleeding from every pore and every corner,
dripping to the marble floor and scratching the naked columns
that stand there for eons, unchanged, unnoticed,

the supporters of the lost ways and dreams, old, rusty,
decadent building, shacking to the wind chant
and the earth dance,

crumbling to its own height, breaking down the pieces of the corners
and the lame decorations,

that gross gargoyles that stood with a wide open mouth
and the horns sticking out,
lost, crippled angels that crawl in fear and pain,
grabbing the feathers that started to fall,
after the dirty, cold rain that drops every night,

punishing the dark steps and filling the gaps
and the enlarged holes that the beast and his friends left.