Tuesday, March 19, 2013

The Petite Mistress of Faux Pas

The Petite Mistress of Faux Pas
by me(whatever)
to this song: Bonne justice- hirano Aya

The beginning is marked by the start of a melody;
the crowd enthusiastically applauds.
In the silhouette of the drawn tent curtains,
a single girl dances alone.

Her shoes are pointed as an elves,
her dress as stylish as poised pearls.
Gasps emerge from every corner;
at the perfection of her frail gestures.

Soon enthralled in excitement, the fat man;
singing in the gusty voice exuding a gathering,
For the petite mistress of Faux pas,
the show will commence.

Fixated tears of charcoal,
drawn of apprehension on her oval face.
Hiding a secret unspotted of the audience;
a shadow of disfigurement befalls in circles on the floor.

The band strikes up another tune,
following her hand in a rivet across the sea of ceiling
an illusion of light spotlights her,
desiring the warmth of laughter.

The children in the front are suddenly afraid,
their scavenged clothing trembling with the sound.
In the weather of a rain-scratched tousle
The petite mistress of Faux pas falls to the ground in arch,
embracing her face from the crowd.

From the door in the other room,
the disarrangement of voices cry out.
The tent curtains are eaten in a bilious wind;
the storm has begun.

From the stage, The mistress of Faux pas again stands;
extending her limbs in purpose.
the charcoal running adrift in rivulet's,
a scar stretches across her left cheek.

Revealing her secret, the clown
plucks her hand from mid-air.
Leads her in a stumbling dance across a broken stage,
while the crowd claps in silver puppet strings.

Afraid to listen outside the door,
The petite mistress of Faux Pas covers her ears with her hands.
She dances alone in her deserted mind,
spinning on in endless labyrinths.

while the dolls on the shelves tighten their unchangeable painted smiles,
in the next room, an argument screams from the illusion.
A father,
A mother.

From underneath the darkness of the mind,
The dolls watch their mistress on the stage.
A clown, a singer, and the children before her;
A single girl dances alone.

3 comments:

  1. Awww Je l'adore! Tu as touche mon coeur avec ce poeme! Danse a jamais La Petite maîtresse du faux pas. :D

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    Replies
    1. oh, et cet chanson est tres belle. J'adore la petite voix. hee hee hee, gotcha now don't I?

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