Pity that her reticence will finish the candle

Fitted tightening her moribund handles

Untouched traditions of many faces fastened

Memories of fascination firmly reformed

Dragged and whipped until conformed

To the perfection of appearance unconscious  

Never knowing besides the surreptitious

Behind the veil, 

She is gone.

Categories: Art, PoetryTags: , , , , , , , ,

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