Step outside and don your regalia:

pretty in gem-toned velvet, silk, and lace, 

you are dressed to the nines; you’re acceptable,

so long as you cover your face. 

You march single file. 

You never skip a beat.

Just follow along behind 

as the arrows keep you neat. 

No unapproved color.

No sharpness to taste.

No wonderment to save,

everything is vanilla-paced. 

What rose would smell as sweet? 

If all the flowers smelled the same? 

You have lost your innocence

in this death-cult mask-erquade. 

This veil is a purity test

and only the most pious can be saved.

In a society devoid of reality, 

is the painted veil needed to separate

the tainted from the pure blood

centralized, master race.

No unapproved speech.

No unfamiliar safe-space.

No beauty worth to save. 

Your life has become an enclave. 

What is this veil that keeps you enslaved?

If it means you walk alive in your grave? 

You march in rows and columns.  

You never miss a chance

to kneel before your feudal masters

for that all-important favored glance.

By DL Mullan

From: United States

Website: http://www.undawnted.com/

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