Glass

Glass

Richard “Canyon” Dillon

There is a woman in Italy

Who walks on petaled glass

And makes it bend

And shape at will

Just like the men who pass

 

Who pass her in her evil beauty

Her steps, on very backs

The line she dances screams with pain

Distracts her from the cracks

 

She is blind, and sees,

A mirror none

A fault within the mask

But she makes her way right down the path

On glass

On shattered glass