Butterfly wings and gossamer things,
exude the lightness of life,
yet burdened within, the darkness of sin,
alludes to enigmas and irony’s strife,
for life’s skin is a wondrous thing,
a play of infinitely variable scripts,
played out by players of endless intents,
both love and pain from the very same lips.
And clothing so bright and alluring,
can burden us from what’s beneath,
and we, so naive in expectation,
cannot accept the truth in belief,
so we persist and live in blindness,
to keep life sure as we know,
while we fester and rot from the inside,
the delusion our sin to behold.
And when that burden explodes from despair,
and reality come storming the ramparts to bare
our souls so vulnerable, our heart so prone,
we break like glass of fine crystal,
and question the life we had sewn,
for what appeared to be love, and trust,
somehow just got lost in the lust,
and sin we did carry, sold for the low cost of deceit.
Life is such beauty in state,
yet not all is what it relates,
for within each soul a battle of will,
and skin is neither secure nor the same beneath,
and the only true measure of a person,
is what rests in the heart, right from the start,
not words or countenance impart,
but the kindness they exhibit, complete.
Being lost in skin is a disaster,
for delusion then becomes master,
and discovery teaches the truths of sin,
and shatters our hopes and everything,
as the dream we hold is a fantasy told,
with no substance, no ever-after,
for we are complex, and hide from ourselves,
the sins of our imperfection, the truths of our heart.
Tony DeLorger © 2017