5 Apr

Veiled by a curtain of clouds

Which part not a moment before or after,

But at the exact moment

the crowd roars  for her presence.

Until then,

She fidgets on the stage

Ensuring her brilliance is intact,

Crown of golden rays perfectly aligned?


Billowing blond locks falling exactly right?


Canary yellow dress draping ever so snugly around bosom, waist and butt?


She refuses to be rushed

And loves taunting waiting fans,

With a peek here

A faint shimmer there

To tease the throng of her impending arrival.

Once she can no longer withstand their screams of frenzy,

The curtains rise

Slowly revealing bits of her being



Finally face.

She dares the lowly humans to gaze upon her

Knowing they cannot

Some try—

Stealing quick glances to no avail–

Her glory searing their eyes

Casting them downward involuntarily in deference

She laughs

Amused by their pitiable attempts

And begins to dance

Rays of her crown

Shimmering with every sultry move



She proceeds without hurry or worry

For she knows she holds everyone below captive

Who in spite of stinging eyes

still yearn to sneak looks.

Once she grows bored

Or tired

She bows

She remains in this graceful curtsy

As cloudy curtains begin to fall

Inching closer and closer to the ground

Until, alas, she is no longer seen.

As the crowd disperses,

She secretly waits

Realigning her crown

Straightening her grown

Tossing her locks

Poised behind the curtains of nightfall

Eager for the next performance.

God looks on

Quietly hoping Sun never tires of performing.

Hopes that she falls prey to ambition

and begins to seek more than adoration and beauty.

The day she does,

will be a sad one, indeed.

She will be forced to continue,

a mere slave to circumstance

However glorified.

Hopefully she never learns that another exists.

That she never discovers

As she waits behind the curtain,

Primping in vanity,

Another captures the hearts of the masses.

It is to him that her fans turn

As soon as her curtains close

He’s is not naive

He realizes the truth about his performance

And sees the chains that bound him to dance

And glow

And perform

Every night

Before a throng of gawking onlookers.


He tried, without success, to escape the hand of fate.

He finds a little justice

By making appearances on his own terms

A bit of himself one night.

A tiny more the night after

Some nights—when he’s particularly moody—

He doesn’t perform at all

And leaves the audience peering into a blank stage in wonder

Though he’s scolded and beaten for such actions

He revels in his small acts of rebellion

Too much to comply.

If the golden lady meets Moon,

She may revolt.

May grow jealous to

Learn she is not the

Sole recipient of the world’s affectations

Or grow enamored to learn another so beautiful

So striking

So desired exists.

Either way,

It can only create chaos.


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