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Marlicia Fernandez

In the recesses of fantasy the graces spit
From their self-constructed prisons
In the shadows of pretend
Disdain evident in their reaction
To anything creative
Or fanciful
In their pompous self absorption
There is no tolerance
For the whimsical
The clumsy
Or the ugly
Lacking all pretence
Though beauty—if well mannered
Will elicit smiles
And clever wit
Will be admired
Yet furtively…
From a distance
Graces prefer
A sedate spirit
Poise and etiquette
A gentle nature
Bound to convention
Flights of fancy
On wings of chaos borne
Sit not well
With graces
Gentle and demure
With no thought out of place
And no action without merit
For all to see—while motives remain hidden.
Graces, pleasing to the eye
And a sedative to the soul
A false sense of perfection
Deadening the spirit that creates
Before it can begin
To make a world
Of individuals
Capable of thought
And unashamed to be
Free from the conformity
The graces

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