A Beauty Buried

What storms rage beneath your sullen eyes

That inspire a smile so constant?

For bereft thou art

Of an even start

So you have forever trailed behind. 


For speech so measured is a mind under siege,

and silence so constant is a mind beyond reach. 

Yet there is that bravery of self

To delve within one's own so deep. 


Used to war is she, within her own self,

That she has mastered the art of hiding;

From her own, and the people who crave most to read her. 

And she does not show her fighting. 

She shall walk amidst the flames, burnt. 

Yet do so with a smile.

For what she fears is her own disclosure

And be seen as something vile. 

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