Hidden deep inside her costume, the world before her mask,
A diluted sense of hatred buried beneath frills, black lace.
In discovering a notice she hadn't realised, first time passed,
Now stole her attention, and she was sewn into the page.
Her past became her present, an alarming array of pictures,
Flashed before her vision, shedding light,
Times she'd blocked out long before, were inking themselves, now fixtures,
As she delved into lost chapters of her life.
The flickered dark of candles, resenting every gust of wind,
Every gasp, every tickle that bid them shame,
If only they'd had the strength back then to admit when they had sinned,
And not surrender the purity of their flame.
A startling realisation, when morning pinned back her lids,
And she awoke to the sound of an age old day,
Given but one final chance to confess all that she'd hid,
And carry on with life once her guilt had blown away.
make sense of it....I can't. I will get links.
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