A silver mirror and a steady hand,
Where colors gather like the desert sand.
A stroke of velvet on a tired eye,
To mimic the glow of a morning sky.
The crimson lipstick, bold and bright,
A shield for the day and a flame for the night.
With every brush and every fine trace,
A new kind of magic is brushed on the face.
It isn't about hiding who lives within,
But celebrating the glow of the skin.
A touch of rose on a hollowed cheek,
Giving a voice to the quiet and meek.
From the golden shimmer to the matte of gray,
It prepares the heart for the roles we play.
An armor of beauty, a warrior's paint,
Whether a sinner or whether a saint.
But when the evening begins to descend,
And the day's long journey comes to an end.
The water will wash the colors away,
To reveal the soul that is here to stay.