She's left her lipstick off at last.

Stands there looking in the glass

Not quite sure if she'll survive

Without Orange Fire or Capistrano Pink

To take her to the brink

Of her desire.

Her high heeled shoes they've got the blues

Lying on her wardrobe floor.

They've got the feeling they won't wear anymore.

She's grown tall with her back against the wall

Measuring each fall she takes.

Amidst all the confusion,

Amidst all the illusion,

Let there be light.

But in twilight and in confusion

She's shivering without illusion.

She can't find a thing to wear.

She's surrounded by clichés

That are worn out and bagged at the knees.

And she's afraid to leave her room

Even in the afternoon.

She can't risk another attack

By Metaphor or Imagery

In a world where Life

Is too easily a Tree.

Amidst all the confusion,

Amidst all the illusion,

Let there be light.

And the light?

That's just a metaphor

For seeing things

Exactly as they are.

Just like God

Is just a metaphor

For seeing ourselves

Exactly

As we are.

© Felicity Buirski 1985.