Cynthia's Journal

She’s the color blue
So deep she cannot move
Through her eyes she speaks
To your heart
She’s a hurricane
A storm you cannot brave
Instinct says fear
In words so clear
And she’s a little girl
Eyes closed on the tilt-a-whirl
Can she see the arms
Waiting below?
She’s the saddest poem
That you ever took to bed
In candle light
Questions burn bright
Cast through imagery
Of love denied and pain that follows
Threats unrealized
And speaking ghosts with hearts so hollow
Sits a little girl
Reeling in an imperfect world
Writing in rhyme
Frozen in time
How many times has she
Awoken from the dream
Suspicious of
Scars left behind?
And what is the cost?
For, surely, there is a cost
To live the verse
Perverse and so near
Ink and pen describing
Blood and sweat and fear devoured by
The spider of the web that
Leaves the heart that loves unconquered
She’s the saddest poem
Yeah, she’s the saddest poem
She’s the saddest poem
Yeah, she’s the saddest poem
She’s the saddest poem