Under the Light

Virginal white covering a tainted soul

She is living in a daydream

Pinks and creams shrouding her lurid tale

Just as she has done since she was sixteen

 

A Southern belle now faded

Beauty, honour, a home gone

Pure white by name, not by nature

A desperate madame, discarded each dawn

 

Let them mask the stark, harsh light

Let them not know and understand

The pale face barren in the dark

As she sells her love to another man

 

Let her hide, imagine, pretend

That her life is more than this desperation

Let her invent, tell lies, make believe

That she is still Belle Reve’s sensation

 

Her fluted voice, the only thing untouched

Drowns the sorrow of reality

“It’s not make believe, never make believe

If you believe in me.”

 

Pale silk clings to her womanly frame

A glittering tiara adorns her hair

Costume jewellery, as phony as

Herself: inside, outside, everywhere

 

An old maid with a twisted history

Widowed at sixteen by her first love

Yet not many see this, just her cheap mask

Of prostitute, whore, broken, not whole

 

Her drawn curtains, shielded lights

Dim the stark, bold sorrow of reality

“It’s not make believe, never make believe

If you believe in me.”

The End

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