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.