There is no silver, among the gold hair
On top of the airy, archness woman
It’s not that she has forgotten, for I have not.
Bearing an artificial wish to him
To inflame her no more
It’s not that she is fearless, for I am not.
’twas the accuracy of his aim
that pierced the air of assumption
At the center of the twisting path
Rooted in prejudice standing in solitude
Determined to never succumb to the man
Destined to never find a way out
And it’s not that she is not I, for she is.
It’s that I am here and you found me
But with the blow of fate
the chaos of the confusion created peace
yet still to be found in the maze
with the dawning recognition at our backs.
It is not that she doesn’t love, for I do.