The hues of nature you have robbed in vain,
Even the stolen pastels of your eyes,
False beauty’s paint cannot here hide your pain,
Nor yet the evil of your heart’s disguise.
Rouge powdered cheeks, the fragrant rose once owned,
Your guilded flaxen hair, poached from the sun,
Soft visage beige, from evening’s shadows loaned,
Stained ruby lips – leave paramours undone.
But Siren colors washed by light of day,
Or caused to run by blessed heaven’s tears,
Uncovers thus, your harlequin masquerade,
And clearer still; brute honesty of years.
You lived a life of sordid pantomime;
To this charade, the greatest truth is time.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.