High tides,
vicious gales tell the tale,
Her story of
glum sunsets and moon rises,
Her little
wings hurt as she glides in a world,
A world she
dreads where everything in it remind her to frown.
Slow gashes
of nothingness bestow the unknown,
Her long and
unchaining days bring her to a weep,
For her weak
perches beg to be heard…
But the storm
hushes her cries…she weeps, she weeps.
Silently her world wonders where she is.
Must the
world be so cruel that she cannot see her hurting?
A fight
within brings a flight to the abyss
Eyes open,
eyes closed darkness all around
A thick smog
of lifelessness is all that there is
More and
more she sinks in what she fears,
Her heart
beats yet she cannot feel.
A call, a hint
that there’s a way roars,
Suddenly she
can feel the thumps from her big heart,
Eyes open,
flowers and a walkway appear,
There she is
whole again like an embryo
Pure of the
cold of this world,
Embraced by
the allure of a smothering scent
She smiles,
the glitz of her eyes reflect the uncut woman she is.
For Sista Moe...
