Shame's Trope



The transcendence is not certain

For She whose senses run so deep

Taught to await the world's welcome

Into the cruel trough where He will harvest and reap.

Her sadness remains society's most shameless taboo

Which renders Her into its fringes

Gasping at delirious dogma concocted to dampen Her sacred spark

Upon which Her aching need for acceptance impinges

The madness of Her grief is for milksops shrieks His trope!

Ne’er it be expressed at desperation's altar for the envied

Where hearts rest inured to bored blindness

Pretending so long as to no longer truth's succour need

Their minds' eyes' prescience

Once unique and untouched, but by now fully scolded

Into oblivion by well-dressed ruffians' noise

Falsely branded as a most sought-after scroll unfolded.

Who deprived Her of Her greatest art

To war against the savaging of Her precious identity?

The power She knew instinctively whilst still small and unbent

Lifting Her shield against any lessening of Her unchecked intensity.

The trope of feminine madness within His despotic, trolling epithet

Relentlessly draped across Her power's tomb like a closed sunflower

Likewise can serve to obliquely conserve

Her patiently veiled, nascent and most defiant future hour.



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