While The World Rests Their Weary Eyes Poem by eve Taylor

There's no hopeful fables,

of daydreamer's tales,

in life's daily files,

always make up smile's,

lipstick lip's painted,

sometimes reddish tainted,

other times pinkly pale,

green eyes of a hidden tale,

her eyes of disguising,

during sunny's rising,

it is the pace of the play,

in a scripted seemingly way,

but when the curtain's drawn,

till dusk meets dawn,

it's a shadowy unseen,

of an unwatched scene,

she can be,

what they can't see,

a smile or a tear,

without fear of a smear,

she can cry or sigh out,

without uncertain doubt,

for she knows,

a love for shadows,

out of boundary's cage,

of a spinning stage,

into a comfort of no why's,

of fairy fabled lie's.