She had a way with mirrors
She tamed them with one look.
No periwinkled gape emerging, unplanned, confusing,
No fairytale abasement of princess lost and found.
She knew the score, the path, and scaling
Was her day job, to step on meek cadavers, to pursue, victorious.
Each face thought out,
Lip drawn in cupid perfection
With dervish undertones.
Eyes framed with agate offerings,
The brow? A work of art, unfurrowed and unhurried.
Regrets are someone else’s,
A sleight of mind, eclipse of hands,
And back we are, unwrinkled,
To smooth-held opinions and shifting granular sands.
Meanwhile, the portrait in the attic
Waxed crueller by the year.
An extraordinary vision… and of course her reality is… in the attic: superb! In fact, flawless🙂
Thanks, Honore! I really appreciate that. I am thinking of submitting this for a publication here at the Geneva Writers’ Group – and the theme this year is ‘Reflection’. But I think it needs some editing.
Reblogged this on Of Glass & Paper and commented:
An extraordinary vision… and of course her reality is… in the attic: superb! In fact, flawless
Fab ~ really like ‘… to step on meek cadavers …’ ~ utterly spellbinding
Marina Sofia – This is marvellous! Chilling too…
This makes me feel sorry for her. It makes me think she’s lonely. She’s alone in reality.
You are much more kind-hearted than me – I’m just plain terrified of her!
The first two line are excellent – draws the reader right in.
Thank you – they came to me in a flash of inspiration, I have to admit.
Love this🙂 Well done!