Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Your Mistress

The eggshells are dust
And my toes blistered
From always walking soundly

The mirror reflects
The anguish my face conceals
Before it’s prepared
For your approval

This masque we live in
An endless nightmare
You've shackled to me
As a price for love

Your secrets I keep
To save your faces
For the glory of
Unforgiving kin

My banner of life
Floated like feathers
In the wind of my making
Now lies in the dust
As a feast for moths
In your over-sized closet

© Antonio Beardall

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