You

You

 

Not lost. Not yet

Not still, one voice

But the eyes on the soul

Are listening

And from this the change may come

 

From the many dwellings

A troubled mind inhabits

Only the promise of a cacophony

Will spoil the view

And guarantee a war

 

Hostages may be the prize in battles

But internal feuds

Feed on the choicest victim

For mercy is a distant flag

That flutters behind the walls of shame

 

Own up to the one small voice

In stillness. The mute salute

A call that circles out beyond

Everything that scares you

Embrace it all and bring it home.

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