Arabesque
In the night one can lean on its distant plight filled with fright
As a caged barbaric inner longing to ensue its promise
She wore stars in her hair with a promise of hope;
In her longing able bodied spectators would often croon
With her silver spoon a visible reminder to pray
Arabesque often would look the other way too proud
Chances are she will go far in her distant chorus
Able bodied mutants would so often flourish
Out of sadness an inner claim toward madness
In her gladness a flight to appease its balance;
We harbored no bitterness amidst the shadow of dicontent
In the morning brought dew on her aim for intellect
Sweet Arabesque a loving rose that in her arms would capture the beauty of its after glow...
A soul in regards to having her head grow theough its after glow,
She had every right by which to know or for that matter to know
Another page had turned another rubber meets the road
Shades of Pine beat within its timely abode
She sips tea next to the furnace to quench her forbidden sorrows proned in disaster
Copyright © Mario Vitale | Year Posted 2012
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