Her Subtle Image

In its final hour…
Judged by the image if its women
An abstract notion hiding behind concealer and lotion
Surgically improved Frankengirls with fabulous breasts
Stand tall! Prosthetics impress, and innovatively think less
Shadows to insult the celebrated image of woman true…
The one art knew,
Divine reflections of nature framed
By their changing seasons of rediscovered beauty and grace
But how grievously women and nature are bound to share that same fate
As youth applauds rape
A society may be weighed by the way it behaves toward you, good woman
Earth and her…
Worthlessly used discarded and twisted to please
Those greater goods, tastier foods, turnaround, and economic efficiency
Similarly, all good men suffer fate to lost mothers
Starve them grave, love true may never be
As all are never truly free
You see, sex does not liberate, and conquest isn’t brave
Smokescreen pleasures, conquest bereaved, exploit feebly
Starve us, love true
As youth applauds the starved
Decorated with plastic jewels
If it wrinkles just discard
Harvest us dry my depletion is harmless
But must you really look to the next,
When the last grain of sand is spent?
Profits write quite mischievously, “But what then?”
…Genetically broken children are born decorated with defects till none survive either wombs
Mother’s are also the tombs
And in light of today
Light shines rather grave
In air burdened by particle emissions
“Harvest depletion, oh children of eden!”
Quite angrily profits judge grievously,
“Society decay, crumble slow, and fade!”
Beginning with the subtle image of women
…In its final hour