With the whole world weeping into her hands,
Alone on the brink of salvation she stands.

Waiting for an ice shard to free her from time,
Lingering on the edge of a new silken rhyme.

What, once she steps, will Fate for her devise?
Will she, once flown, fall to her demise?

Think not on this, we shan't, for shame,
For unlike to our thoughts, we all are the same.

So tottering over the unknown she will stay,
Red tears shining nuance into the new day.

And once, perhaps, we shall see her soonafter
When, as is hoped for, she'll exist in our laughter.

She shall dwell in the crevices of downtrodden states
And between the rusted old heart's prison gates.

Her solace shall be in the hands joined as one
And the world she once jumped for as she fingered that gun.