The Silence of Beauty

in white muslin she is laid out Neruda’s Page read in her last light a white dermis that once rippled, to hold within each pore a kiss of life once breathed in blood and sweat was torn to cut and punch drunk love that history now rests entombed in grief, between a white lily morning and a twilight of eternal black orchids, her feet marched a million leagues and now rest retired, stripped in relief ten soldiers stand at ease,stubbed of life wearing badges of battle a face tipped with laughter,is carried with her hands holding scrolls of each caress in the single embrace of every motion the minutes of sorrow in hours of her joy denounced or honoured by a gods mouth the archangel joust legions, and regathering before this moment, before chaos she was reposed in pure perfection, and the lilies were silenced of beauty