Thursday, April 2, 2015


How dare you confine me in your insignificant box
she gazes at the image meticulously created on the fancy hand mirror
and applies the gloss with the determination of one who loads a gun
the piercing stilettos hit the floor echoing on the hallways passed
insidious prolepsis of places yet to be
She knows the fight is vain
She knows peace in acceptance
and still on her veins the very essence of a warrior
drives her forward
in constant acceleration
burning the mileages of a limited existence
She knows statistically it will be fate
But if...
Just if.
That lingering little thread of hope
that Michelangelo's David will complete the mighty touch