Poetry, I do suppose,

Is feeling molded into prose.
A metaphor or simile
And there you have it: poetry.

April 17, 2011



I see her but she has no face.
She seems so very out of place;
A pretty, nameless, faceless woman -
Standing like a mannequin.

The thought - the vision - haunts me still;
It nearly caused my blood to chill.
And though the memories are within,
My eyes still see the mannequin.

Her hairless head and unringed hand -
I know I'll never understand
What makes me wonder deep inside
If she's another model's bride.

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