Epilogue
Jolie Laide
There she hangs, his masterpiece and her own,
Immortalised in paint, painted over until,
A finished moment masks all that went before.
This Jolie Laide, new illusion of truth,
breaks the old mirror of imagined beauty and,
Up rise a confluence of feelings
As we stand before it.
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We are Memory
How far back can we remember ? One hundred years ? I wasn't around in 1925 and my family talked about the Second World War all the ti...
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Jolie Laide There she hangs, his masterpiece and her own, Immortalised in paint, painted over until, A finished moment masks all tha...
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Her beating heart, so tired now, nerves worn thin with worrying, Her legs, led her, running on empty, to the place where she could rest ; ...