*She sits,
as a lady does,
in a stiff-backed chair
with her hands quietly folded
and her legs daintily crossed.*
*She stares off
with unassuming eyes
and an innocent mouth
flawlessly carved on her doll face.
She lightly drips of jewels,
purposely placed.
her pale grey dress of silk and lace
shines against her fair skin.*
*She is watched by others.
“otherworldly” they whisper
as they sit,
captivated,
at every poised move
and eloquent word.*
*She sits,
with a soul
of an ancient ache.
She stares through eyes
that have witnessed pain.
She is watched with vapid glances
of oblivious peoples.*
*but,
She keeps the truth hidden,
her face beautifully blank.
a Portrait,
for nothing else is regarded,
when clothed in silk and lace.*