She makes the sand,
the sand seep away.
Little locket on her chest,
with her steps a gentle sway.
Though her eyes cast
a tender gaze,
her fiery heart sets the sky ablaze.
Dry rain and dry puddles,
never will she stop.
'Til she stumbles to her knees,
the dusty ground, fiercely hot.
She cries out in pain
and laughs through tears,
a withered smile
of withered years.
She sees me.
Her faces relaxes,
her lungs give out,
her limbs betray her
and with one final strain she says:
I can't hate.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 7:51 AM UTC
She makes the sand,
the sand seep away.
Little locket on her chest,
with her steps a gentle sway.
Though her eyes cast
a tender gaze,
her fiery heart sets the sky ablaze.
Dry rain and dry puddles,
never will she stop.
'Til she stumbles to her knees,
the dusty ground, fiercely hot.
She cries out in pain
and laughs through tears,
a withered smile
of withered years.
She sees me.
Her faces relaxes,
her lungs give out,
her limbs betray her
and with one final strain she says:
I can't hate.
