Where is her joy? The flirtation of moonlit fire flies.
Yet, she sees strained blurs as love pulls away.
As Cupid shoots his arrow missing her mark.
Now left to be of the scarlet letter A.
The mark of the vexed woman so innocent.
Until she screams for release of chained pains.
But do you know her_ Joy,  the beautiful inclination
of ballerinas that dance in silhouettes.
Or maybe she misplaced her purse?
For fear Joy could have been stolen by Robin Hood!
And she begs for the doors to open, her  head
towards the holy alter.
And she kisses the feet of saints asking for
the forgiveness of sins unknown.
As her fingers sprinkle the piano keys.
Then maybe it will hear her music.
The resonating sound of woe.
Will it brave the sanctuary?
It is a good place. They say__
It shall swiftly awake her nightmares.
Tell her the beautiful side of the story and
then walk off as if only a dream.
Her joy is but a tempted imagination, she has
yet to master.
Did it not target practice her heart.
Because this is what life is made of. Joy!
And no one said, you shall not have it.
So maybe she is not living?