Beauty On the Thorns

I adored the colour of your skin, And your saccharine sweet lips, They were blossom soft, It's so hard to recognize you now. You cry and feel excruciating pains, Trembling like an aspen-leaf, Unutterable things pressing on your soul like a pent-up storm craving for outlet, Weak and frail like the vapor of a vale. You are from the Giant of Africa, Your parents were fugitives and well fed slaves, Today, they are free but extremely hungry, Leaving your heart to be as dry as a reed. Your blood is red like wine, Your charms lay like metals in a mine, Your eyes are like fantastic moons that shiver in some stagnant lake, But it hurts to know that your beauty is transitory, Because your future is jeopardized today.