Her in Photograph

Her arms fold down, back and around--

Elbows pointed

Like the wings of my angered Angel flings;

Her head falls forward from the Sky into a bow,

And waterfalls of golden-brown curl out from atop her Crown,

So she looks down

At a listless and boring floor as she gets ready,

Pulling back that lacy strap, to God, as last unsnap

A symbol of restraint--her bra--a likeliness to unsteady

 

Slender body; all too feminine,

Much too beautiful to surrender and imagine

So she could see how to be infinitely, forever power-full and strong

In a body that’s never really had the chance to sing Heart into her song,

But never mind when she remembers her doom: Memento Mori,

When Light enters the room

To illuminate a pretty funny story

 

Caught in a moment of joyful innocence, My Child,

But don’t forget this life is nothing but silliness and lies;

For once we understand the transition and change of a person

In a mirror who sees a soul all too wired and tired from

Always showing the wrong face in a place

Full of nothing but empty and shallow listeners,

 

With way too many words to speak,

And way too great a Life for any one soul to contemplate;

It’s the end of the day, and she’ll shed the blame

Only to return upon her most beloved and blessed fate--

‘Tis true, for the picture really makes no sense,

But truth is we could never truly see through this pretense,

‘Cause just like you and me,

This little lady will Always be

Just the right amount of loved, and absolutely perfect

 

And that would just ruin the whole story.