She reach for the clouds
Her hair in her mouth
A flare hits her face
She becomes a ghost in purple space
Green turns to blue
A Glaze in her gaze
Her eyes wide shut she feels the gloom
As the smoke starts to rise her silent waltz bloom
The birth of the futile virtue
Deems the soul cold and dark
A deep royal flood settles in with the dusk
The jarred struggle to grasp but she is crystal
Yet she tumbles with the foreign clear whistle
And there in the blue for the first time in her life
She feels with her eyes and sees with her heart
A requiem for the wasted hailing the gullible
The wicked persuade her to be the chosen victor
Though the sick will always struggle to part the utter
And that’s how she knows those who hate will end up being in the gutter
Now that the gray smoke will smother
The sun will step up and hug her like her mother
And every step she takes will now color
Little by little, releasing peace on earth forever
About the Creator
Arsal Asal
Emerging screenwriter and director, dog lover, immigrant in the US. Loves creative writing, terrified of birds.
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