Take me not for any less than I am.

I regard actions lowly, but words spun

hold mirrors to our mouths when eyes are a sham.

The road to my heartstrings has just begun.

You think to see my soul; my eyes are lies

dusted with glitter to capture your mind.

My sweet emerald brocade stretches its ties,

but look underneath – what horror you'll find.

The cracks lie in words, a sonnet, a song,

poems and prose, in rhythms counted in fours

sung by a bird caged in ribs for too long.

Perhaps I'm waiting to unlatch the door.

I lie underneath this worthless facade

hoping someone will see – other than God.