The Savage and the Veil
The Savage and the Veil
I stood before the mirror one day,
stripped of the silk and woven lies,
and met a stranger—
wild-eyed, unshackled, nameless.
A savage.
I draped myself in cloth once more,
layers upon layers of gentle deceit—
and the mirror bowed before me.
A man of grace, a scholar, a gentleman,
wrapped in the wisdom of a thousand hands.
These robes—
stitched from the threads of learning and law,
of prayers and propriety,
of culture’s quiet commands—
they shielded me.
Made me invincible.
Or so I thought.
But time, that patient sculptor,
chisels the flesh, bends the bone,
and the garments of dignity grow heavy.
Infirmity strips me bare once more,
returning me to my first form—
vulnerable,
human,
a savage once again.
Yet even as the winds of weakness howl,
I gather my fraying robes,
for those who lean upon me,
fragile as I have become.
I must stand,
even as the earth pulls me down.
For the savage in me knows—
love alone is the last shield.
