A menial task is getting ready
the silk ebbs and flows in wrinkling currents, perhaps to plaster over the changing tides beneath. Something akin to laying linoleum over mid-century hardwood flooring to fit an ingrown aesthetic, yet we do as we are told, shielding our flesh from watchful eyes and the rolling tides of time.
although people may forgive ugliness, time will not.
To pull stockings over varicose'd legs
to pull back the curtain in flowing ebbs
hiding, taking cover, shielding our woe
the beauty of time, we no longer know.
Time is unforgiving, unrelentless, ungiving
our views, our ways are breathing, not living
we'll crumble and fall like grand colosseums
the joys in the wicked, we no longer feel them.
A menial task is getting ready..
standing in a time warped mirror, walking across the (now) linoleum floors, hiding behind the curtain and closing the door.
A menial task that all must do
a mundane life, built for me and you.
A door, an old floor i hope you will loan,
for blessed is the day where i return to sea foam.