Robin

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...