The glory of her hair
falls in a rippled sacrifice
to the scissoring of malice.
Jealousy grinds its quarrel
into petty glass to wound
the spirit until it bleeds sorrow.
A mirror reflects but doesn’t own
golden locks echoed in its silver.
To wish is hope…To believe is trust…
beauty grows in grace with every note
sung from an insolent choir.
©Susie Clevenger 2017
Comments
sung from an insolent choir
It is a pity it is not accorded a rightful place and admired by the many! Perhaps out of envy!
Hank
'Jealousy grinds its quarrel
into petty glass to wound
the spirit until it bleeds sorrow'.
much love...
inside and out
is that a glimmer of hope
in the last 3 lines
namaste
JzB
into petty glass -
breath-taking! Each carefully composed word, line, break reads like a scissor clip, severe, biting, sharp - but there is an unearthly, almost otherworldly beauty that lifts this beyond the pale of the initial words. This is a transformational experience.