Wrapped in shattered wings of failure,
remorsefully, begging second chances
from the crowd of mannequins; Judgement of silence.
Feeling, this searing breath of mortality
sweep away accolades and critical acclaim.
Slipping from the satin pedestal,
perched upon broken egos.
Tearing the cloth as you cling, grimly, to the pinnacle,
as all the time understudies wait
to steal the lines from your lips.
Buried secrets erupt from the closed casket,
Still kicking, screaming, with life.
Gutter press headlines, while “Variety” keeps
a dignified silence. Perimeter of courtiers
still bolster fragile façade, even as they kiss and tell.
Dressed in skin, washed to many times.
Do you pray for endless Sundays?
Now as you enter saffron sunsets; How you have fallen.
Copyright © Colin Marschall