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Madame Cézanne in a red armchair, by Paul Cézanne
Robert L. Martin

The Outcast

The Outcast
 
Her tears tasted of sweet and bitter
Her smiles climbed only half way to the summit
As the whole called for its fulfillment
But joy is a distant paradise in waiting
 
Sorrow crept into her like a hungry serpent
As a messenger of gossip and jealousy
To wrap its tail around her vulnerability
Her virginal nature exposed to the wolves
 
Her half smiles weakened from their pretension
Her proud innocence disappeared like the sinking sun
Her natural affection became estranged from her
As she wandered away from human nature
For it was human nature that
Chased her away from herself
Her complete self that fell
Apart under those spiteful eyes

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