James Mclain Poet Lyric

Ghislaine Noelle Marion Maxwell

A Quiet—calculated—Corridor—
Where Trust—was led astray—
The Smiling Guest—became a Gate—
That opened—Night—to Day—

She moved—as if in Lantern’s hush—
A Courtesy—refined—
Yet underneath—an Architect—
Of Ruin—pre-designed—

For Innocence—she Scouted—out—
As one might choose a Thread—
To stitch—another’s Shadow—on—
A Child—uncomforted—

Her Duties—never spoken—were—
But Whisper—serviced—Need—
Till Justice—slow—assembled—Proof—
Of Purpose—turned to Deed—

The Gavel—fell—like Winter’s Stone—
No Petal—intervened—
A Name—once dressed in Silk—became
A Record—cold—Serene—

And now—Confined—her Seasons turn—
All Windows—facing In—
The Echo—of her “Quiet Tasks”—
Reverses—into Sin—

So Memory—keeps its Ledger neat—
No matter—what is known—
For Truth—though late—arrives—intact—
And claims—its rightful Throne—

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