Infatuated by rays of the moon
In self she sees a shrine of liberty
Scared and all, sacred and tall
She stands.
Tip-toeing on the edge of a beginning
Strong-willed with nothing to lose
A worrier born to warrior,
Amoured in shameful past
Armed with melancholic triggers
A smile; her first punch.
Elation; a monster not quite like the envisioned
It’s warm, it’s bright yet nothing quite like sunshine
Brightly dimming each encountered soul
How could desolation submit so willingly?
A force so dark
To just lose it’s spark?
Scarred and all, sacred and tall
Before self I stand,
A sad girl I am no longer
Discover more from WeLived
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.