Sunday, October 28, 2007


A smile sits stark upon her cheeks,
as the beam of the moon--
a bastard, conniving,
masking and mocking
the true tale told
by the ice on her brow
and the sigh in her eyes;
chaos is her face,
a lie finely penned--
contentment, poise--
but the discerning eye
perceives the lie
in an un-beautiful smile,
her painted hiding place.

1 comment:

Jackie said...

Interesting. What a wonderful poet you are.