Mar 2012
She was a work in progress
That summer she started out just a girl at the pool she looked almost sickly so white and skinny she showed her promise by paying them no mind who knew the hidden resources she drew from she was one
who knew the desert life great vastness seemingly only emptiness howled
Its lonely existence that is the curves you have to watch for you think you see clearly the path Ahead life
never continues in a straight line at times there is no line at all you just fall straight
Down in freefall everything separates and falls away the only thing that remains is the cranium
Strong hold hands have no power to grip and hold even reality slips at times yes we are far from
Castles and dungeons but there are dragons born of the hot wind they rise from the desert
Burnished sand they have no rivals to their kind except those demons that burn but nothing can
Consume or purify their corruption you find yourself alone in their midst lost hemmed in by a
Burma of thorns no way to penetrate or pass the hurt they represent so the only way is an
Inward journey outwardly the fires are burning nothing escapes the fire every tender thing you
Possess will be sacrificed on the altar you didn’t have an inkling the cost would be so high the
Day of small things were routed you are filled with longings for lost things you have to withdraw
Only dreary darkness pulls you further as a web that can’t be defined all is lost the vestiges
Empty skeins are like wisps of floating spider webs it use to be your life that was solid and full
Now just a haunting a house of disrepair that only stirs your thoughts to pity I know it was her
Constant contact with the sun that started to deepen her color but as this occurred an intensity
Started tracing her face she was a marked woman again it’s easy to draw the wrong conclusion
Negative thoughts are crippling but they also create fog like circumstances vagueness is there
Drum beat of doom the problem this is not a story of darkness but one who was chosen
Outwardly the grim hides the glimmer that has started it has been guarded by darkness
And in this seemingly dark dungeon gifts are being bestowed on a heart cleared of all laid bare
Ready for a planting that grows against all odds of survival a harvest that springs up and will
Produce heroic efforts while the earth is put to the torch one who looks as she was formed in
The fire will flourish while those who enjoyed comfort all of those years of her suffering will
Look and see her fighting and winning on their behalf without her their end would be hopeless
Her trials prepared her for battle the loss so costly now swallowed up in glory that is well
Deserved and doesn’t have ability to corrupt that was decided in those days of pain all was
Removed only a pure warrior remains this army is few but as Churchill stated many will be
Blessed by the few look back in history you will see that this story was first told through
The prophetess Debra and desert sand produced one of the greatest queens Nefertiti, Cleopatra
Was another do not curse the day of small things we don’t have enough intelligence to judge
The unseen call that some have you need to dismiss this writing for now but in the near future
When end of days roar and fill with terror it will make perfect sense then
That summer she started out just a girl at the pool she looked almost sickly so white and skinny she showed her promise by paying them no mind who knew the hidden resources she drew from she was one
who knew the desert life great vastness seemingly only emptiness howled
Its lonely existence that is the curves you have to watch for you think you see clearly the path Ahead life
never continues in a straight line at times there is no line at all you just fall straight
Down in freefall everything separates and falls away the only thing that remains is the cranium
Strong hold hands have no power to grip and hold even reality slips at times yes we are far from
Castles and dungeons but there are dragons born of the hot wind they rise from the desert
Burnished sand they have no rivals to their kind except those demons that burn but nothing can
Consume or purify their corruption you find yourself alone in their midst lost hemmed in by a
Burma of thorns no way to penetrate or pass the hurt they represent so the only way is an
Inward journey outwardly the fires are burning nothing escapes the fire every tender thing you
Possess will be sacrificed on the altar you didn’t have an inkling the cost would be so high the
Day of small things were routed you are filled with longings for lost things you have to withdraw
Only dreary darkness pulls you further as a web that can’t be defined all is lost the vestiges
Empty skeins are like wisps of floating spider webs it use to be your life that was solid and full
Now just a haunting a house of disrepair that only stirs your thoughts to pity I know it was her
Constant contact with the sun that started to deepen her color but as this occurred an intensity
Started tracing her face she was a marked woman again it’s easy to draw the wrong conclusion
Negative thoughts are crippling but they also create fog like circumstances vagueness is there
Drum beat of doom the problem this is not a story of darkness but one who was chosen
Outwardly the grim hides the glimmer that has started it has been guarded by darkness
And in this seemingly dark dungeon gifts are being bestowed on a heart cleared of all laid bare
Ready for a planting that grows against all odds of survival a harvest that springs up and will
Produce heroic efforts while the earth is put to the torch one who looks as she was formed in
The fire will flourish while those who enjoyed comfort all of those years of her suffering will
Look and see her fighting and winning on their behalf without her their end would be hopeless
Her trials prepared her for battle the loss so costly now swallowed up in glory that is well
Deserved and doesn’t have ability to corrupt that was decided in those days of pain all was
Removed only a pure warrior remains this army is few but as Churchill stated many will be
Blessed by the few look back in history you will see that this story was first told through
The prophetess Debra and desert sand produced one of the greatest queens Nefertiti, Cleopatra
Was another do not curse the day of small things we don’t have enough intelligence to judge
The unseen call that some have you need to dismiss this writing for now but in the near future
When end of days roar and fill with terror it will make perfect sense then
