I wake
To greet his Son
A costume plucked
My day begun
Naked in pretend
Adolescent innocence
Then, lightly clothed
By my dubious repentance
Performances inspired by
My mind’s scrapbook memories
Hot Hell’s happiness
Stained by short-lived blasphemes
I never present, in moments made
Though an actress, makes it seem
Superseded by unknowns to behold
At mercy to he who writes the scenes
I hide not one, flawed true be
A stumble into life’s stages
Smart, yet too fool a memory
My parables recorded on life’s pages
Poised, short finger north,
Etiquettes for Queen’s tea
Perception won, for injured minds
My Imperfections impress His Majesty
Now, a misty sky
Purples over pinks and blue
Painted faces and facades far-gone
My blessings, in bird’s eye view
Nudity returned for
He whom always see’s
Sleep delighted, I with peace
True to self’s own transparencies
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