___________    
She ponders as she lies on the bed of roses,
The thorns biting through her skin,
Pellucid elsewhere, but the stem,
Surrounding her, engulfing memory.
How did she get there? She does not know,
For this is all she feared.

The bear on her chest leaves her to wonder:
the caged giant now takes pity,
As it roams the lengths and strides its pen
Afraid it is of the petite beings,
And afraid it is of the fiery flash it brings.
Distorted creatures, partly seen through the iron rings.

Does the beast ever pray to be elsewhere?
She ponders as the trembling devours her.
The puny-beast is now the prey,
Behind the iron, it is caged.
What is the difference, she wonders, as one twins with the other.
At this breath she figures out the answer that wages war against eachother.
Both the maiden and the beast would choose the bear.
The irony of it—now she is aware.
Rules of mankind she is reminded of:
If a bear scares you, contain it.
If she swirls your lust, cover it.
Yet you cannot sustain—act on it.

As the cotton turns scarlet,
The world now turns aware.
But it’s not the bear she fears.
It is the cold-eyes that judges.
As they still question the lass—
That lies motionless as the wounds tear.
"The bruin earned it!" accuses the chap.
"It is cause of what she wears."
She ponders as the coldness embraces,
She lies as she sheds ruby crystals,
Eyes turning hazy, feeling dazed,
Losing feelings elsewhere,
The only thing shading this pain
is the sorrow-night’s weep ablaze.
As she reaches the gate that awaits.

As two ends near-
Them and you,
These biased questions may ascend:
How old were they? What did she wear?
How did they look like? Was she rare?
But dare a man ask another,
Why did you do this?
Was it ever fair?