Twilight Zone

In silks adorned, we walk with shadows cast,

Upon this stage where masks and hems do thread,

What be the worth, this beauty unsurpassed,

If 'tis but lace, and not the soul it fed?

We strut in garments trimmed with time’s decay,

The needle’s point—our hearts it pricks with pride,

Yet hollow be the grace that lures away.

For, dressed to death, our hearts in cloth abide.

What grace in gowns that veil our mortal plight?

In mirrors framed, our fleeting selves we view,

A face enshrined in fabrics’ woven light,

Yet beneath seams, what hollowness shines through.

We spin and twirl, yet closer to the dust,

As fashion’s folly drapes our weary forms,

We dance this dirge, in silken shadows thrust,

Yet canst we halt this reckless, fashion’d chase,

And let the spirit wear no silken guise?

If beauty, bare and unadorned, we face,

Might peace, not cloth, our hidden hearts apprise?

Then strip the threads, that bind both flesh and mind,

And seek, beyond the loom, a light refined.

Lost in the seams where fading beauty storms.