Saturday, 15 February 2014

The Dress (The World's Slave)

I am a sad sapphire, with waves and valleys.
Most of the time I languish in a dark, shadowed cupboard.
It is hampered, with no smile. I linger so long
Sometimes I’m loath to leave. But that never lasts.
I am worn again and feel admired, needed.
Whatever I do the eyes of culture stare,
As if I was a reason for their lives.

But when I shone in the ballroom, I was blind to the truth.
Fashion has stirred, changed. I no longer stand out.
My mistress, with her fingers, passes over me.
Then she turns to those liars; the fashionable trends.
I was worn to feel needed, but now I am not.
She has been groomed to follow the crowd.


Now I understand that I never had value, no true cost.
No product of nature am I,
Only a price tag; the man-made epitome of style.
I am but a trend, so when I pass, I pass forever.
In lifeless suspension, my lustre fades away.

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