Dust Veil

In twilight's hush, where shadows play, A figure emerges, veiled in gray. The dusty cloak, a winding shroud, Conceals the face, in mystery avowed. The eyes, like slits, in darkness gleam, As if the soul, in secrecy beams. The outstretched hands, a mystic sign, Beckon the unknown, to draw near in time. The dusty veil, a metaphor true, For the hidden self, in darkness anew. In this enigmatic form, we see, A reflection of our own mystery. The dusty robe, a symbol of our past, The mask, a guardian, of secrets that will last. The figure stands, in dusty repose, A sentinel of secrets, in eternal doze. In this artwork, we find our own disguise, A reflection of the mysteries we surmise.