Against The Grain

helenvalentina

We’re cut against the grain
If our lives were woodwork
We would be
A strange and dubious artistry
We couldn’t quite explain
We lived to be our parents’ bane
We’re cut against the grain

We strive to make our mark
For fame and fortune
We were bound
But blind to something else we found
We’re swimming in the dark
Fire from a simple spark
We strive to make our mark

Neither perfect nor polite
Like moths to flames
We longed to be
The talk of all society
A masked ball’s chief delight
Is what is done deep in the night
Neither perfect nor polite

We’re cut against the grain
All angles sharp
And half aligned
Never seen and not maligned
We feast on our remains
Hid now by dark curtains
We’re cut against the grain

(c) Helen Valentina 2013, All Rights Reserved

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