Is she named transgression, cast as a shadow in life’s discordant fight?
Her name they claim is Vilaney, a despised soul, an ugly figure of plight,
Born bow-legged, cross-eyed, stammering, limp, her form a scorn,
Hunched shoulders, her truth echoes, a relentless toll, a fate forlorn.

Vigilance with a stutter and slur, a child of innocence in a world unkind,
Vilaney is her name, despised, rejected, and in social judgments confined.
Yet wasn’t he greedy, the brother everyone loves, a handsome coward,
rash, impetuous, foolish, in valor’s trance by society, he was empowered.

Honored by simpletons even in his folly, in arrogance he was draped,
with kingly robes, Faust, the flawed, the muggins with accolades shaped
a crown for his head, yet when she says what we all think, be it harsh or sweet,
her reward is to be thrashed, crowned in the head and set back in life’s cruel retreat.

Honored is Faust in folly, in brashness and zeal, Faust, in his greed, wears tearaway attire,
While she, the critic, her pain concealed by he, imprudent, hotheaded, cloaked in madcap fire.
Bravely she implores us, “Say what we all think”, she continues, “be it joy or despair”
Consequence flails, implements of injustice and she is silenced, canceled in an unjust affair.

A slave to the narrative she is bound by social etiquette, cloth made from a puppet’s string,
She spoke truths that would free them to fly, yet they clipped her critique’s sharp wing.
In verity she criticizes mendacious interpretations yet heard by deaf ears, her stuttered voice,
In misrule’s grasp, by Faust under cruel governance, her last defense– she had no choice.

Vilaney, I ask you, is she destined to be a slave to the echoes of the colourless and unclear.
all the while crying in silence, her colours more spirited, yet her vibrancy the focus of fear.
God watches, not amused by traditions of society, through Faust who pretends to be bright,
In richly adorned coverings of leaders and kings, dark inside, void in soul, missing God’s light.

Suspend disbelief, she pleads of you, where appearance reigns as a tyrant Faust is uplifted.
She, the pariah, changes hearts, and speaks her words even as they believe in the twisted.
Faust, in misrule, is a character of flaw, yet redemption is transformative and vast,
She, a tumultuous critic, with words that implore, transcends the forlorn and lowly cast.

Struck down by the powerful, her voice is ignored, seen as ugly in her unique.
Beaten and shamed for truth, yet she is pointed to say what many dare not speak,
A critic’s burden in a flawed world of self-proclaimed Christians in name,
truth is often obscured and lost in traditions, chasing ephemeral fame.

For opinions are dangerous, they say, for an outcast, a castaway, but the voice is real,
She persists, Vilaney, in her own way, against Faust’s tufts and arrogance surreal.
Beaten but never beat, she persists all the same, is she not pointing to what’s on our minds,
The pariah named Vilaney, as real in fleeting fiction, seen as ugly, yet truth in God, she finds.