Unforgiven

I remember the silhouette From her stares and gestures How they gracefully slithered Through minds and seasons The silk in her demeanor How it sucked un-weaved roughage And tilted edges of dispositions Until moments stood firm She only had one niddle of hope With locally done emotional textiles She could have lived forever If only her hands were bare She could have sewn garments With royal threads Quilts for loyal beds Where comrades built trust, love She could have lived forever If only her hands were bare Tango with stubborn winds There is no shore to kill the vibe The ostrich won’t pitch on shores There is no sand to bury its head She could have lived forever If only her lake was pregnant with sand Mirrors on walls of her soul Are romancing with the image of her sores The silhouettes are too guilty To cover her nakedness Truth has too much scheme in its teeth To exonerate her Pieces of scattered words With sharp points like broken glass Will penetrate the skin of her life As she kneels for a moment of grace Maybe, just maybe She might live forever