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A Goddess tale

Celebrated for her elegance �
Worshipped as tho' Juventas �
but clueless were her adorers �
her life she lament �
alive with expectation �
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There were nights her demon rise �
When she does her habitual mirror check �
And pride possesses the fluorescent light �
the cruel piercing rays daggers on her guise �
revealing the collasping masquerade �
the wretched lines, languishing veneer �
youth bleeding from the silent wound of time �
� �
Sculpture of a Goddess, she lays cold and still � �
Enclosed in this glossy pink coated pine box �
with a looking glass for her adorers' eye �
like a photoframe, close-up portray of her face �
Classic sleeping beauty, her resting eyes, dreamy smile �
Hair parted to the right... � �
to cloak the wound from yester night �
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Painting by C. Allan Gilbert - "All Is Vanity"