She was woven within the clouds
but never really settled on cushions of
                pearls that never rained down truth.

Her inclination tainted her wings of
        subjectivity, and she washed her
past off her, feathers descended in sorrow.

Tears crumbled as the truth that all wasn't
                    as was shown stripped her of virtue.
She never flew again, to show her solidarity for truth.


Her wings did open, but to show the strength
                   of even though she didn't soar
                   she was of the air of truth, faithful.