Unforgiven
I remember the silhouette
From her stares and gestures
How they gracefully slithered
Through minds and seasons
The silk in her demeanor
How it sucked un-weaved roughage
And tilted edges of dispositions
Until moments stood firm
She only had one niddle of hope
With locally done emotional textiles
She could have lived forever
If only her hands were bare
She could have sewn garments
With royal threads
Quilts for loyal beds
Where comrades built trust, love
She could have lived forever
If only her hands were bare
Tango with stubborn winds
There is no shore to kill the vibe
The ostrich won’t pitch on shores
There is no sand to bury its head
She could have lived forever
If only her lake was pregnant with sand
Mirrors on walls of her soul
Are romancing with the image of her sores
The silhouettes are too guilty
To cover her nakedness
Truth has too much scheme in its teeth
To exonerate her
Pieces of scattered words
With sharp points like broken glass
Will penetrate the skin of her life
As she kneels for a moment of grace
Maybe, just maybe
She might live forever
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