Penning a Painful Past
Truths slant with his sharp angles.
Skies cloud over as lies untangle.
Spinning time, she spills gray thought,
kneads her words like clay till wrought.
Weary days, she works her pen,
beautifying dreams again.
When spirits lift, she will escape
his rough hand from throat to nape.
Even now, her frail heart crumbles.
Beaten down, her hours tumble.
Words confuse from mottled page,
flailing on a blackened stage.
On a dirt road made of grit,
she strengthens wings struggling to flit
between his grip of thumb and fingers,
an innocent soul always lingers.
Freedom found and compass tossed,
from highest peaks climbed up, she's lost.
Light streams down from one bright star.
Her skies open from dreams afar.
His rage tries to steal her soul.
She fights to take back her control
from past tumbling, her tale is told.
Her shrouded words will now unfold.
Written 3/23/17
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