I can change, play god, and break the golden silence
But even I myself cannot shatter it all off completely
I can still choose to climb out of this chaotic dissidence
But the leftover shards scattered will still wound me badly.
LA VERRE COLORÉ
Stained glass art displayed grandiosely on old church windows
Oh how colourful, in the soft butter sunlight they glint
I also clasp my hands and pray for someone to paint me so
To fill my transparent boring soul with artistic hues and stints.
Mirror, cracked mirror, on the dirty peeling wall
Why must you show us what we lust, view such superficial calls?
Cold pensieve who serves as our persistent lying companions
Glory be to our bloated egos that you help into false ascension.
Rippling, the spring water lazily flows and relaxes in the calm
Slipping, the tears angrily splatter against her restless palms
A broken child in the midst of the perfect forest garden
Wishing that osmosis would allow the beauty to pass to her skin.
Glassy eyed plastic doll with a painted red smile and the blondest of tress
Elegantly poised with delicate stitches on a stunning pink dress
Little pretty blonde doll, how much longer can you bear the lies
Do those cold blue glass eyes already want to break down and cry?