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