It's A Shame
The immaculate walls whispera tale of abandonment.
In the center of the room she
stands proud,
covered in ash, smoke
emanating from her weak
frame, a fallen angel,
in a room of such lushness and purity.
The flowers wilt with one
glassy stare from her,
and her mud-stained feet dishonor
the once pure white carpet,
but she takes no notice of this.
She takes no notice at all.
Everything she touches turns to stone,
and with each breath, she releases
another poison,
bringing to life a new hallucination
of sanity.
Her eyes black like coal,
she begins to dance,
twirling and whirling,
feeling beautiful despite her knowledge
of this pure illusion,
her bedraggled dress frolicking and waltzing
around her like an unspoiled robe.
She does a pirouette, a glissade,
for everyone, for no one,
knowing that she appears ludicrous,
but she takes no notice of this.
She takes no notice at all.
For once, she cannot be judged,
and it's a shame to think
that she still can't be free.
This heaven could invade
her, if only she'd let it.
Poetry by Amanda Manmohan
Read 1002 times
Written on 2006-06-07 at 02:19
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