The Pretty Time

She came to rest,
edges tucked in,
and realized that

the Pretty Time was coming around

That was never good.
People knit their stories
around their empy spool

making a Pretty Time out of emptiness.

Adding in more colors,
painting more images
that crave eyes upon them,

building on falseness til the Pretty Time arrives.

When all clapped joyfully,
sufficiently distracted by the gaudy,
lacy, intricacies binding nothing to their core.

Pretty Time was here.

The eyes burned out staring
leaving blank oval whiteness
reflecting nothing back.

The Pretty Time masks Nothing, remember?

She takes flight, sighing,
blurring her innocent wings in the light
of earth's sunshine.  Pretty.