Twilight Zone

Adorned in gold, we pass like morning mist,

To vanities we pledge our fleeting trust;

Each thread, each gem, by eager hands is kissed,

Yet all must fade and fashion’s fame to dust.

Doth pride in garments shield our mortal bones,

Or be it mask that hides the hollow sound?

A crown of silk but deepens dying’s tones,

When cloth and lace to empty hearts are bound.

The mortal veil, with threads of want entwined,

In stitches bind our restless spirits low;

For can true worth in trappings be confined,

Or finds the soul release where truths do flow?

Ah, fashion’s fleeting favor guides our hands,

But lo, what hand can weave the timeless thread?

To shed the cloth, renounce all shifting sands,

Then let our robes be woven of the soul,

Where no decay nor trend can tear or part;

And let the self wear beauty, fair and whole,

Where neither seam nor mask may mar the heart.

Thus fashion fades, and truth doth bright remain,

For cloth is naught beside the spirit’s reign.