The Gilded Cage

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Carey Glasse

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So-called jade lays smeared upon the page
Her hands, too, betray
Where her focus has been
She can press the pretty pigments into the page
But she can't press her love into people
In quite that facile way
You know, some canvases
Just have nothing to say

Oh, how those pretty, pretty pictures in your mind
Must smile down on you from sweeter times
A museum you've made for yourself
None of these images claimed and framed
Have anything to say about love given or received
They're no more than effigies of you
Concealed under the guise of others
And all their lowly tithe
Somehow lets you think you can hold your head high

A fissure of fate
She could have helped you reform yourself
Tragic beauty of the gilded cage
Praying for the one who persecuted her
Too busy assigning blame
To feel any shame

Shut out and shut in by her own complicity
Who's to blame here
The studio has always asked her to say her peace
The canvas can yield to the dream
So why can't you
This room has been sacred like prayer
She lays her soul bare
And now foreign things return her stare

As winter succeeds autumn
So does arctic frisson follow upon
The coattails of mystic vision
Painting eyes in the moulding of a latticed door
And teardrops replace dew on the roses blue
Locked away here from your crudeness
She asks, do you just not see all the flowers
You trample underfoot
Only a blind person could miss them
So therefore that's what you must be

The place where she'd exercised her joy
Is now the refuge to exorcise her grief
Tragic beauty of the gilded cage
Such expression for such relief
Lord, there's such a price to pay sometimes
For something priceless like love

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