Mystery/Real Face

She plays her guitar

with a well-rosened bow

she speaks a language

only she knows.

Everyone says she’s a mystery

she thinks she’s free from the world’s false pall.

If that’s so,

doesn’t that make he the biggest puzzle of all?

 

I wanted to write

but they kept looking at me.

My real face stays away.

 

I’m going out of town for the weekend, so I won’t be posting poems. Look for more poetical wonderment on Monday!

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