The bite of freedom lost begins To bore into a soul confined by fashion. A trap conceived for he whom style has dropped Is sprung with force unseen upon the tide Of choices made, betrayal gained By he whom fashion deems begone, adrift In seas where "style" is called a storm Afeared by friend and foe alike, tossed Through tide of clothing, bright as day. And those who do not keep ahead of Changes in the water's current will be Released to deep and seabound death, Moreso as those whom fashion leaves in dust, And "vogue" becomes a word unholy To be heard among the flannel and the denim Jeans we wear in defiance of the judgement Borne of all delusions gone with beauty, Gone with we who think that skin is golden, We who must create a palace out of skin To hide a lack of beauty lying within the Ones who look for solace, look for ease From harshness of humanity that wants a mercy Dispossessed by what vanity has trapped And made us slaves of all our merciless fashion.
Reason for writing:
Mail me if you want to know or have comments...I'd love to
hear any criticism.
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Landon C. Darkwood.