We observe the young girl
Sitting on her bar stool
Looking into dreams in which are cruel
For no one else sees but us two here, as her eyes gaze in to
her own sacred duel,
Her lonely dreams which no one can see
Will die in her- her astound seed.
And those who do see do not allow
light, for their only goal is to torture her plight during their prowl.
Slivering- jerking inthe moon
These howling wolves do move
Cackle! Cackle! Cackle!
They laugh at her battle,
For instead of benevolence
They chose malevolence.
The young girl plots in her internal rain
The storm is here devouring her grain
Her dreams dematerialized in dreary remains.
No longer does she seek the kindly heart
We watch her muse her untimely might.
No one else sees this... just you and I
We see the rain fall, the wolves'cackle- the storm,
yet we do not start,
We let the rain fall... and fall again
She stands to leave and we know where she goes
Despise in her eyes- she will soon keep her bed.
Why were we not there to heed in her sorrows?
She was so sweet- so kind.
Yet we still sit here for the time.
© Copyright 2016 AemmaBella. All rights reserved.
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