The Bust of a Man

On a raised fine pedestal,
Of fine stone, clothed in exquisite marble,
Bedecked with ceramic beadings,
Carrying a plaque in fine copper,
With words set in gold and diamonds,
And above it all, a forgettable bust,
Of a man that once lived,not anymore,
Only a bust, not his entire form,
Stands forgotten, as in life,
People walk in to admire the lavishness,
Of all that's around, oblivious of the man on it,
And as they depart and more come in,
The man, nay, bust stands, sans hope or ask,
To be loved over the plaque and pomp,
His heart having been burnt and stashed,
Having become all but a breathing bust,
He stands still in death as he did, in life.