Butterfly Screams

The sun ascends over the horizon,
As if it carried a concealed paintbrush,
The secrets of crimson, decorate the sky.
The sleepy hue of auburn soon follows suit,
While the color of lilac makes its sleepy appearance.
Soon the masterpiece known as Dawn is revealed.
With the finishing touches of emeralds;
A blank canvas opens her sapphire eyes,
A smile is etched on her face as she gazes at the Dawn,
Another day that has freshly begun--

The mirror she has brought herself in front of
Gently reflects back an image, a blank canvas,
A rare beauty that hasn't the need of embellishment.
With hands oh, so, delicate, she picks up her brush
To cover the bruises that insult the beauty that could have
Been painstakingly sculpted by Praxiteles himself;
She conceals the old ones and the new ones
As if she was expunging ugly graffiti on the Venus de Milo--

Some say she has the delicacy that mimics a butterfly
The grace that gives her the strength to fly.
The shades of beauty that seems one of a kind.
She has disguised her damaged canvas so well,
That not a one could guess,
Beneath all the exquisite layers
Lies the proof of a butterfly's screams.