In the garden of faces, she blooms,
a daffodil amidst roses,
petals unfurling in the morning sun,
a delicate facade, a painted perfection.
Her smile, a symphony of deceit,
a dance of light on polished surface,
beckoning bees to her nectared lips,
while beneath, thorns lie in wait.
Each word she utters, a whispered breeze,
fragrant with falsehoods and pretense,
while her eyes mirror the azure sky,
reflecting only the clouds she wishes to show.
She is a masterpiece of illusion,
crafted with care, each detail honed,
but beneath the surface, her roots run shallow,
her beauty a fleeting mirage.
So admire her from afar,
but do not be deceived by her charm,
for she is but a daffodil,
bright and lovely, yet shallow at heart.
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Author:
Royce Earnest Rasmussen (
Offline) - Published: February 28th, 2024 17:23
- Comment from author about the poem: This is a poem about my sister. As you might have guessed, she's not a very nice person.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments2
Beautiful to look at but that’s where it ends. What a pity she isn’t beautiful inside too. Lovely poetic expression here. Thank you Royce, I enjoyed my visit.
Cassie, thank you for reading and taking the time to comment.
A most interesting read. I never have liked the colour yellow, I have a sister similar though. Kudos.
Thank you and sorry about your sister.
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