Underneath Her Golden Charms

Poem

For all pine after her shining airs
Exalt her agreeable, confident layer
And she arises with grandiose care
To meet their hopeful, expecting stares

Yet underneath her golden charms,
Her fluid gait and open arms
Is chained a thing with a lost voice to sing
Its rosy notes of innocent things

It once traveled free through her heart and head
Floating on breath past her lips and said
“I think, I am, I feel, I love;
This soul is pure as the white of a dove”

Now its tune is deadly still
Made silent from years of her social skills
That slowly ruled it to something more tranquil
Like a poetess stopping her scribbling quill

 

more by A. M. LAINE

photograph by Sara Cimino