I hold a memoir on the
diaphanous surface. The quill of my soul scribbles the cryptic encrypted notes.
The enclosed myriad secrets flutter, but it never reflects on the gossamer skin.
The nuance of emotion is glum on its fragility. Though it never spills the
quintessence fearing it may blur the mirror blocking the vision of entities.
My honesty and clarity, the
virtues invite your blind faith on me. I venerate your penchant for me for
which I gift a glimpse of you. As a sculpture’s brilliance I present the
pristine carving of your physical self! Though the truth is not what you see or
perceive but what my humble glassy skin show you. This awareness pricks me as a
curse in recluse.
I have surrendered myself.
I acquiesce to be wholly holy to escape
the labyrinth of illusion remain a desire as I am exposed to the truth that I
am not required for anyone to see their inner self or the transparent beauty
they behold in utter divinity. So what I reflect you is not YOU but ME as you.
So I weep when I see you admire your transience the mere illusion of the beauty
of your mortal flesh. The true grace and the glow of your eternal soul don’t
reflect through my gossamer as your eyes are blind with earthy vision and
prevent to see the real charisma that needs inner vision but not mirror.
Still, I relish the silent
monologues, your absent mind let go off freely in front of my existentially
absent presence. In spite of I secretly seek thy earnest attention to share my
feeble melancholy. Rather your images vanish as you leave me forgetting even to
acknowledge my silly deed. I am bound to remain as a memoir and the secret admiration and desperation of yours haunt me that swirl as guilty and produce
tears that vaporise before anyone notice it. I am destined to be just a medium
to introduce your physical self and any sort of lingering that is not in my
help won’t serve me or others.
What you see at times is deceptive!
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