She's a shape-shifting thespian,
A ravishing role player.
She fake laughs and fake sobs
The demon, demon-slayer.
She's a camouflaged catastrophe
Some unguarded flair;
A general's chilling war cry,
His widow's futile prayer.
Her love cradles a toddler,
Her fingers caress his hair;
Then drapes his soul on lifeless pyre
With a shroud of despair!
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Author:
Vanshikaa (
Offline) - Published: March 8th, 2024 02:33
- Comment from author about the poem: My take on the paradox which is beauty, both superficial and intrinsic, both external and internal, that which has the power of starting wars and battles and yet rests gracefully in the beholder\\\'s eyes. Beauty which is so revered, but nonchalant; which brings restlessness yet peace...the beauty of both the joyful and the melancholic.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 7
- User favorite of this poem: Alan R.
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