Bitter vanity (in memory of Constance Chee)
You were born in beauty,
with stars to grace your head,
with gentle hands upon your face.
Your pride grew with time,
with the idol of your image,
the love of your own glamor.
You were the madonna of youth
with colors that paled,
the simplicity of those around you.
Your lovers were gods,
with silver tongues of pleasure
the satisfaction of your primal desire.
Yet you faltered,
like a flower withered,
by the glimpse of reality.
You saw mirrors,
without your face,
bearing smiles of passionate deceit,
with emptiness falling in.
You had lost yourself,
a scream shut within a glass,
a ballad of infinte sadness.
St Joel
January 2006
You were born in beauty,
with stars to grace your head,
with gentle hands upon your face.
Your pride grew with time,
with the idol of your image,
the love of your own glamor.
You were the madonna of youth
with colors that paled,
the simplicity of those around you.
Your lovers were gods,
with silver tongues of pleasure
the satisfaction of your primal desire.
Yet you faltered,
like a flower withered,
by the glimpse of reality.
You saw mirrors,
without your face,
bearing smiles of passionate deceit,
with emptiness falling in.
You had lost yourself,
a scream shut within a glass,
a ballad of infinte sadness.
St Joel
January 2006













