Skip to main content

Bare Grace

If life is so beautiful, she showed herself to me covered in make-up|


The play she portrayed brought cheers to the theater and a tear to her face|

The mascara watered down and brought out the natural glow in her eyes|

The stage now wet from emotions once struggling to appear|

Placed caution to her every step brought forth from that moment on|

The curtains rolled and she strolled back to wipe the mask from her face|

The water washed her stains away|

Revealing the hidden grace|

And yet she stepped outside from outside that theater|

Expecting fans with pens pushing forth for an autograph|

Not one fan appeared|

They all strolled along|

Without taking notice of the bare face|

Looking for attention|

Another tear fell|

This time without a smudge of make-up sliding along|

She felt her skin colder than ever|

She felt the tears|

She felt the smog|

Now without make-up to mask her face|

She wallowed without notice|

As her admirers forgot the face behind the mask|

The beautiful imperfections a mask can hide|

Can never duplicate the emotions expressed|

And feelings exposed with a cold tear running bare|

Without colors to hold in the black and white|
Labels:

Comments

  1. AnonymousDecember 22, 2011 at 6:26 PM

    I love this line from your poem. "The water washed her stains away, displaying the hidden grace"

    You found the perfect pic to go with it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. UnknownJanuary 3, 2012 at 3:41 PM

    very articulate :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. Philippa DrakeJanuary 17, 2012 at 5:42 AM

    Your post throws into sharp relief the artificial world that stars inhabit. Unless there is botox and make up, audiences take no notice. They are only interested in outward appearances and not inner beauty.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

High-Class Noon

I turn my tongue green with a pint of mint listerine. A blistered knee. Eyes bleed from the passing of a centipede. Don't stand close to me I erupt in a millisecond, conforming into a catholic priest. I stand high underground. The sounds of an orchestra swimming in the mud with the sounds of an orca. I boast I had it all, but now I can only hope that they don't take away my last adderalls. Don't test with a number 2 pencil, give me a red pen so I can pencil him in. And they call me a backpacker. Hike up your mountain till I find the erupting fountain and go for a deep sea dive, only to come back to land in the space of a spaceship, blasting off with my sins. High-class noon, blast off past the moon with a fork and a spoon, I went too far; now I need to rewind so I can get my piece of the cake, in a cheesy plate. Its an arms race to the finish line, my A.K. is too heavy to glide across, I could only make it past half of the track. I had to make a pit stop and grab my Tech ...
6 comments
Next Page »

Trapped in Dissolution

Her ability to feel no longer lingers from her inner chest| Replaced with an emotionless sense of the world around her steps| Instead of looking up she sees only the ground| Not the faces which once laughed and smiled| She built her own road to walk on| But nothing in the background| No grass| No trees| Only a deep black screen| Static hides the image| I once dreamt of where she would end| On a road with no hope| A slope hill heading down towards the abyss| I once heard laughter and joy created from those lips| Anger took her soul and wrapped itself around her shoulders never to let go|
6 comments
Next Page »

Excavating Thoughts

Excavating thoughts purge the deep swell in an abundant forest filled with catacombs| Think not of what to say| Rather| Think of formations and placement for your words| The expression expedite hidden phrases| A realm in multitude of scenic shades| Which fill stains and covers from edge to edge| Put in motion a rehearsed visual| Captured for later interpretation and judgement| A glory outdrew| A painting foreseen inside that thought| Once emerged from a projector working its way from picture to sound| From sound to dialects| From dialects to expression| From expression to memorized interpretations or unsightly inked writings| Exclusive to emotional reincarnations| Contemplation and relegation amount heavy loads| To collapse the foundation in which laid heavy groundwork| Obscure water waves regulate the sounds of prejudgments| Before seen in the obscurity of the themes| Awake from the thankfulness of your mind| And enter into the depths of the b...
7 comments
Next Page »