Still White

I've never been touched.
I've never been held.
I've neither been kissed
Nor loved.
I'm Purity personified -
But that doesn't make me
Perfect - because I'm not.
No one is.
But there's no mark
Upon me.
Not in that sense, anyway,
Because there are marks.
Damages and blemishes
And imperfections…
I blame others and
Their own faults.
However, their blame
Is twinned with mine.
Someone look through
This darkened window
And see the light within.
Neither black, nor grey, nor ivory
As my age may suggest
In this time.
It's still untouched,
Plain white.