Hidden Face Skip to main content

Featured post

Burgundy

In ruby-hued satin, she pirouettes alone, Her form a silhouette against the tone Of evening's blush, where shadows softly play, Amidst the burgundy that wraps her frame at bay. With every step, the fabric billows wide, A skirt of old-money elegance inside, Yet her bare skin glistens like polished stone, Ethereal, untainted, utterly her own. Her arms, entwined, create a pose of grace, A Botticelli vision in a modern space, As if the nymphs of ancient lore had come, To dance and twirl, unbound by mortal thumb. Time stands still in this suspended scene, Where art and life entwine, a sanguine dream, Of freedom's fleeting nature and its hold, On hearts that beat within a living mold. She is a vision born of color, light, And the intoxicating thrill of unbridled might, A fleeting moment preserved in embered thought, Of a woman bold, in radiance untaught.
Post a Comment
Read more

Hidden Face

In the deep blue expanse of her own mind, or perhaps the vast, indifferent sea of life's complexities, she carries the quiet burden of a misunderstanding. She knows not that in this vulnerable space, she need not hide her face, need not shield the genuine contours of her spirit from perceived judgment or inadequacy. The very depths she feels compelled to conceal are, in fact, the wellspring of her unique light and resilience. It is a poignant paradox, this self-imposed shadow, leading one to ponder the most fundamental question about her: does she, living behind this veil of unnecessary caution, even begin to grasp the quiet strength she possesses, the profound empathy that guides her, the inherent goodness that makes her, in so many unseen ways, a truly great human being?



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts