She wears a fancy dress,
elegant with it's lace.
So much she does repress,
never shows on her face.
Each ball a masquerade,
all wear a different mask.
More lies told as she stayed,
"what is true?" none would ask.
They could be a maid or a queen,
the silver tongue can spin gold.
Since their face is never seen,
the truth will never be told.
YOU ARE READING
my poems
PoetryEach of my poems are their own entity, shaded in different hues and personalities. They are empathetic with many universal themes.
