Skin

Skin

Skin 

We fashion beauty. We aesthetes

We are Olympians of taste

And make no mistake, when the money is good

No expense could be too crude

For the aristocrat of the senses

Whose pockets flap

Will exploit loose change to buy exotic metal

Shaped vehicles that are extreme

To sit proudly as ornaments of success

And that ‘trophy beauty’

The ultimate prize

Can be embraced, paraded and caged

For others to ogle and envy

But, there is one thing that spoils

And over time

Even expensive treatments will fail

When honesty is lost

And foundations slip

Even taught, sculpted lines will err,

Faults and fissures creep

And the mask?

Well it will speak

Mirror

Mirror

Mirror

 

Are there, tell me truth

Any not troubled by you

For even those blessed with youth

And ravishing

Have mental slips

And those higher-up, say famous

Can also succumb

Find frailty. Expose fear

Be wounded by an impartial stare

So, in your false frame

Is it vanity

That lingers over memory

Where pomp and circumstance

And all pride eventually

Is pricked

Get well

Get well

Get well

 

You are a bright light

Occasioned sometimes by pain

You colour your space with playful air

And would not let the pain revel in it

I care for you

 

Cherish the hope that propels you

To think upon a smile

And pen silly prose

In defiance at lurking dread

That is steeped within

 

Even in distress there is resolve

I honour that

Because we are on slender threads

Unsure of shape and form

Yet sparks sustain you

 

Go on. Improve

Give the indelicate salute

Cling to resilience

Dance the steps of a furious but tired pugilist

And win this bout

A naked poem

A naked poem

A naked poem

 

Agile weeds that cling

To places I leave exposed

Are markers of time mis-spent

 

I am left with remnants

Shards from what should have been

All those glittering achievements

 

Shreds from a garment

Woven from wobbly love

That inexact thing

 

A heart beat

Stretched muscle

At the source of tears

 

Remember being the refrain

That echoes and thunders

Even under cover of sleep

 

Not even dreams

Can render

Happy endings

 

For this mind will believe

The imprisoned propaganda

Of some previous elite