The Symbol

We build from the bottom,
placing ornaments where we think best,
trying to achieve the perfect balance,
aspiring to make something elegant.

We adorn it with artificial light
and wrap the body in silver-lining.
We elevate a woman, a star,
and we ask she symbolises substance.

Weeks pass and the beauty of it fades,
as trinkets sag and lose their shine.
The arms which supported so much promise,
brown and limp to the floor.

The silver-lining feels it's snap
and it gently unravels.
The light slowly fades away,
extinguishing entirely in places.

The symbol changes,
to something different,
but no less graceful.

Last Night's Nightmare

Closing time,
the door gently shuts behind you,
stranding you alone with no light.
Your voice has left,
and the syllables sound wrong.

where are you?
where were you?
is this you?

You reach for your pocket
and pull the pieces from it,
a shattered clue emerges.
You breathe help,
but the silence doesn't break.

who are you?
what is this?
is it good?

It did it's job,
it made you this way,
this is what you planned.
You could rebuild
and make the mistake.

Do you want to?
How will it go?
Is it wise?

You move towards
where you think it might be,
but you've never been sure.
You hear a voice,
but you know it isn't yours.

Yours has been lost.