by jing javier
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
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She looks into air, herself falling rain
Dripping coldness past, memories old pain.
Drops fall, the puddling her damp water-life.
Spiraling a mirror, self-lonely strife.
A sigh, one frown, crying soft saddened tears.
Storms of remember - through bleak yesteryear.
Cloud a-whorl, dark skies sheltering fair heart.
But how can she joy, while taking no part?
Covering cold soul, corona of defense.
Defying the stab of her fate's intents.
This is madness, she thinks in plaintive cry.
I'm here, on the cusp, of lay down and die.
What my destiny, but an empty-off dream?
A plaything with which gods and angels scheme.
Am I doomed then to live, time never free?
Subsumed wholly 'neath life's scattered debris?
Is justice, outside this torrential doubt?
Perhaps more than sorrow, painful fall-out?
Is love, perhaps, just a sliver of sun?
Shining through mists, revealing abalone?
Personal paradise, which I can own,
Evoking happiness, hither unknown?
She raises from streets of lonely no more.
Light slicing through darkness, hopes washed ashore.
Her withered gait now straightening with pride.
She glides like an angel 'cross future's tide.
Belief in life renewed, no, only found.
Footsteps echoing, a cadence of sound.
Caressing the ground, sing the beat of her heart.
Into the sun seeking love's brand-new start.