She May Seem Defeated
But give her time before you give up on her
She’s definitely stronger than she thinks,
But has convinced herself that the night is set to destroy her,
She longs for the sun to shelter her from harm,
Dreaming through the daylight hours is what she’d prefer.
***
She hangs onto to old truths with both hands,
Swinging between the limbs of insecurity and her ghosts,
Knowing they’ll deliver the pain on a regular basis,
Absorbing the shocks and discrimination of their unrelenting oaths.
***
There are times when she believes she can rule the essence of her world,
Then she falters from grace and ends up curled into hysteria,
Wondering if she’s as insane as she sometimes feels,
Losing herself in between wisdom and that total disaster area.
***
As she walks through the thin veil holding onto her world,
She meets the ancient ones that have been haunting her dreams,
Far from protecting her, they banish her hope,
And forestall her days, so in the darkness they’ll siphon her screams.
***
She attempts to surf the crest of the golden morn,
Shackled to the sun rise as it swings across the horizon,
Her opinions are melted rays, shooting out of her world,
Planning to quit at the final hour but instead the heat causes her to wizen.
***
She reaches into the mirror of her glances,
Refusing to accept the wrinkles, the age of grace,
Her hours of darkness have grown,
Leaving her trembling at the sight of her enemy’s face.
***
Abandoning hope, she retires,
Leaving behind all the beauty she had collected,
Will she return to honour the wild,
It’s very possible, but truly not expected.
***
She has dived into the darkness,
Determined to beat back that fear as she trembles within its wake,
Downtrodden for awhile, but do not give up on her,
She’ll beat this phase, feel the heartbreak, so giving up on her’s a colossal mistake.
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****
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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