Poetry

Amongst spirits, I whirl to find her,
Under a sea of blue so yawning,
Swimming past the ordinary, into a black blur,
I witnessed her , in her own tears, drowning.
I hold her, her ice-cold skin, her pale ice-cold skin,
I can tell she’s wounded within her curtain,
A mean of protection shadowing her desire to smile,
Just as she is saved, my heart feels warm,
But I am paralyzed in her fear, I cannot move,
So she swims further into the dimness,
behind a curtain so dark and impassable,
She senses she cannot be seen, now she is only imagination,
But for I have seen this curtain,
She is living as I tell the soulless screen;
“Evil being of the loathing cloth,
Why torment this spirit,
Can I take her place? Can I feel her pain?
Please, I beg, be rid of this shadow of yours,
Let her go, I warn you, I will strike.
I seek her, so I will set you ablaze with the fire,
Alive in my eyes, my soul, and my mission to see her,
You have kept this spirit away from me far too long,
She wished for you to be her shield against soreness,
But this isn’t protection, only a form of torture unseen,
Let her be once more, I will protect her then, and you won’t be needed -
Let her be herself,  or I will burn you to the ground”