Broken
whilst my eyes are shut, my heart is unbound, pure knowledge is developing, as I walk to the shores of ghostly regrets. I find my faith is questioning the song of another spirit. I sit here and kneel in false charm, the night once again remembers her story...... when I was a child I held on to a thread, it was as long as an seraph’s wings, attached to that was a little girl whose dreams were splintered and broken. she grew up on debris of shattered love and delicate deaths. many silent nights she embraced an unseen universe, that returned each spring with blooming pain and suffering. her actions untied many secrets and she knew soon she was not to be. innocent tears were sacred no more, frequent discomforts were absorbed. why must pain be a substitute for a mothers affection? tired and numb she has answered for the hatred. prayers can’t save when torture is a convenience, these memories are the imprisonment of a broken child. Written March 14th, 2002 © on Mar 14 2002 07:00 AM PST 0 • 1
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"whilst my eyes are shut, ..."