Marking time, we celebrate or not
passages of a kinder sort are longed for
driven by the days on a celestial ride
we sucome to expectations of the masses.

Marking time, we change our outside
seeking a glossy mag look
following a dream of beauty
knowing that it’s all mistaken identity.

Marking time, we lift our breasts
we suck out, pinch up and erase
lines that tell our story
forsaking ourselves for the ideal.

Marking time, we give ourselves
away piece by piece
inside us is a yearning to be seen
the mirror blocks our view as we
wipe away the next miracle.

Marking time, when time is through marking us
our hearts will rejoice
that our souls will be free
to recreate and begin again.

© 2007 Beverlee Andrews

Arrows show us where,
marking our direction
Where are the arrows in our vision
when life becomes pointed?