Chiffon shimmer through the glare
A flashgun marks each pose
Forwards, backwards, turn and stare,
A wilting wasted rose.
Glossy features, marbled skin
A sweat and cocaine glaze
The dead zone lurking just within
Reflected in her gaze
Matchstick girls on wheatstraw legs
With perfect pearl white teeth
Rictus grin from soul's last dregs
A walking funeral wreath.
Apocalyptic horsemen,
Pestilence, Death and War
Beside the Paparazzi
Applauding number four.
The wealth of nations plundered,
In Glitterati hands
To buy the Next hot number
From fashion's coolest brands.
And on the streets of Delhi
The children's fingers bleed
To fill their hungry bellies
And fulfill fashion's greed.
The coffin is size Zero
A catwalk queen lies dead
She could have been somebody
But starved to death instead.
wow...brilliant insight into the world of glamour....thank you...Fi
Martin, your poem was one of the best that I have read on this subject matter. Thanks.10/10 Regards, Ian
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hard hitting with some killer lines. Great writing!