A gentle breeze to heal this heart
And salt to heal these wounds
What writhes within, from a love forlorn
A daughter of the Sun
As shadows call, betrayed by lust
Forgiveness far from true
With autumn leaves decayed by frost
Now swallowed by the spring
These seasons spawn the colors of
What wills her heart from trust
The shore for her, a vivid dream
Of all that's never been
Forlorn by lust and lack of love
She'll never know true touch
Her eyes from emerald, forest-green
Her joyous laugh to dust
What doth remain now pales her face
With no one to embrace
A gentle breeze to heal her heart
And salt to heal her wounds
~ A. Sinclaire.
7:59 p.m. 04/12/2014, Saturday
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