The Afterglow

Is it any wonder the willow weeps and Beauty sleeps?

Monstrous beings masquerade as humble friends

with hollow eyes that fail to see beyond the painted shells.

I think I’d rather blindness too; to live in this sweet ignorance,

for sometimes it’s best to bask in the afterglow of a true joy

than to fester in a pool of twisted lies

that – given a chance – would seep beneath your shield of skin

and make a home of your beating heart.