She rose slowly from a bended knee, Young cheeks drained of color. Thoughts fought for control of her lips, Which never did part.
Her careless wit, her charming laugh, Never did seem so far away from the girl Now curled around herself with grief Crying silent silver tears.
The loss of love is a brutal storm - Quick to approach and destroy And passing languidly once the damage is absolute, With just a cold breeze left in commemoration.
We watched patiently as she placed a porcelain mask Over her furrowed brow; Mere bandages covering a gaping wound. Dodging curious eyes and painting on a lying smile - Locking herself safely underneath.