Lipstick Lipstick a word, in many a song, Gentle love and accusing wrong; But the lipstick of grief is another thing, Moulded shape with a memory sting. Remove the top from the metal tube, Twist the prison of the coloured hue., View the shape of the lips now gone Moulded still in a memory song. Fingerprints make a man unique But a worn lipstick will also speak, Of lips no longer there to kiss, A smile, a pout or words to miss. And so it was as 1 raised the tube, A lipstick case used by you, 'Twas then 1 saw the moulded shape And my soul cried out to death in hate. Still yet 1 touched my lips with thine, Cursing death as 1 smoothed a line, No matter the tears that flowed my face 1 knew my action had a place. For now the mould is double fold Grief no longer in its hold; Your lips are free, living still God has touched me with His Will.
				© Helen Catherine Cramer From book Day by Day August 1984 Photography © Helen Catherine Cramer
	Top
	Home		Poetry Index			Poetry Index Day by Day