Sculpture of Ears

A cold day breaks in forms upon the horizon.
A wave of horror creeps onto the shores of happiness.
Screams of agony fall onto deaf ears,
Not exactly deaf.,
They are all cut off.
The heads have no ears,
But they can see,
And scream,
But not hear.
They wish they could not see.
They wish they could not scream.
They wish they could not feel the ears that are no longer there. They reach up with nothing,
To feel for nothing,
And nothing comes of it.
Nothing breads from nothing,
Into something,
Until there is nothing.
A breeze of lilting flowers floats over the ridges of gore
And blood
And earless heads
Towards the sunken river.
It brings a hint of a smile to the screaming lips of heads
That can still see.
Steps are not heard,
Crunching over shards of bones
Which can be seen.
The smiles disappears.
Sculptures are made from the ears,
All beginning with sounds of soundless laughter.
These sculptures are left by the banks of flower filled rivers Surrounded by the bodies of earless souls.
One stands out from the rest being with ears and having Something of a smile,
Unlike that of the others.
This one stands at rest
The first among many
He who rose above the rest
He who found a venue for his works of art.
He is feared and yet he is loved.
Everyone loves him.
Everyone hates him.
When he comes,
Ears are hidden
Eyes wide open.

Not exactly sure why i wrote this or where the inspiration came from.