The Affected Aches

The Affected Aches

In a wholesome existence, one would
Expect contentment to suffice.
Winter, Spring, not truly on the other side,
Yet still out of line.
Elderly, the Broken Bell in the steeple
Stands against the tangerine sky.
She, so defined unto her duties,
But resigned to silence.
Beauty exists in manifold,
But is seen only in rarity.
Fluid as air, but startling just the same.
And here is the token; for the blandness of the face,
Here is the slip for starting anew.

The child who will beseech the gate,
That enters only few,
To open for its ghastly mistake,
And take these pleasures and with the angst,
So that her duty done she sets a new line.
Not quite rigid or warped,
But changing with every face.
With the light comes the torment of our truth:
Not revived, and not sanctified, and not with the illusion of belonging.
She is the fate and simplicity and change she seeks.