Mary

This one's for a dear friend.

Days bring melancholy 

to the years finding her

anguish"

The grim of boundless

nights eludes as if

her smile was the knives

buried underneath her lips.

Her voice rebels the harmony

of the smoke escaping

out of dying embers"

Her gestures as majestic

as the love hidden deep

under the thorns of a rose

all hurdled about in the

sorrow she kept underneath

her worn out toes.

She lives in captivity

between the earth and

the stars,

and in humility caked 

beneath her shameless grin.

She is a prisoner to 

a soul that knows no gloom,

and to a heart tangled on 

the strings where loathing

flees"

She finds her happiness

satisfactory

while standing on her knees. 

Her name is the threat that 

makes her demons grow weary;

her name is Mary. 

Author's Note

I miss you Mary, very much. Here's a poem for you.
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