Carnauba Enigma

The fraudulence, a shaking hand.
Created on a whim.
So silently, serene you stand.
You ornamental thing.

Stuck inside your waxed attire.
An ominous ire.

Stuck in me, you serve each day,
Evolving in your polished vigour.
An ominous stand, replaces life.
Smothers you, enforces rigour.

You can't be blamed,
For not having a name.
For you were lost, to tools and time.
So innocently, you sit and plead.
A creation of an abstract mind.
Mouth less, nameless, mute and lone.
Forgotten feline.
Workman's clone.