Her lips were stained a rosey red,
Her hair a fall of golden wheat;
Eyes that twinkle of'ly bright,
And a smile, light, but awful sweet.
Lips that curl when pulled from dreams,
Ent'ring illusion, ripped from truth.
Stare at stone blank faces judging
The sad and sickening hateful youth.
Straying from her realm of thoughts,
Maintaining careful poise and grace;
Not to frighten social judgement
As she brings herself to present place.
Once they're gone, and all have left,
Relief floods through her pale, light skin;
Avoiding judgement day once more,
She lets her true self rise within.
No such thing as bonds between,
Or even love to spread throughout. .
A little child grown-up fast
To see the world spread hate about.
So she dreams then must awake once more,
And greet the world which won't greet back;
She waits for love to save her soul,
Or turn her heart an awful black.
Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2012