Sunday, 4 September 2011


It's a fantasy, what you lived in.
An elevated world past that of your kin.
But it all shattered, that one night,
like nothing was ever going to be bright.
But then one girl, she extends her hand,
A small tiny hand that clasps some sand.
"Your time is running," her voice echoes softly.
"Come with me. Your heart has been shoved roughly."
And she sings the song of healing,
a sweet sad song that was lost in timing.
It stirs your heart, those soft notes,
for all you know, she's the one that wrote.
She weaves another song, the one for heartache,
And you sigh sadly, like released a lake.
And suddenly you do, bursting into tears,
She and her sad song allay your horrid fears.
She mixes up the tunes, and comes to a crescendo.
She stops and smiles. "Now it's time for me to go."
"Your hurt will stop in no time for sure."
"But don't worry, I'll always be watching you near."
and she disappears, shadows uncurling.
The last note lingers on your finger unfurling.
And the hint of a smile rises onto your face,
forget about how the clouds are laced!
You are a magnificent, beautiful queen.
Nothing could be more than your shining sheen.
Your fantasy is rebuilt from torn pieces,
and softly, your cheek a pair of lips kisses.

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