Sun-bleached baby girl left lying on the wet rocky-rigid sidewalk counting passing feet with eyes that have seen an eternity and nothing at all.
Baby has chewed fingers reaching for things that won't come, always watching with once-Violet-eyes, waiting with a vacant smile as sticky rain falls down.
Baby girl left alone to fade to stolid gray, holds raindrop streaks between her fingers, fighting is never enough.
Wasted ashen baby girl left airless mildewed dank, lays in puddles of fallen hope, and she's
Washed up at fifteen.
It was a masquerade…
With silken banners and tablecloths.
With musicians, and a crystal ballroom.
With mirrors and colors,
Spins and twirls,
Boys and girls,
And masks.
Faces distorted
Costumes sported
Courtly wine
For the women being courted.
And all the while, we all were sorted
Into our social suits.
But in the midst of the dignified mess,
She stood there in her soft white dress,
A ribbon tying her silken tress
As she played the silver flute.
The troupe.
They crawled at her boot.
They kissed the hem of her delicate skirt
And asked her what to do.
She would not speak, but only play
Her merry songs, so soft and gay,
As
Sometimes...
You have to open your arms and hug the rain.
Welcome the shadows that loom in the distance.
Walk barefoot down the highway in a long black gown made of sin,
just as the darkness begins to let loose.
Sometimes...
You have to bow to the sky.
Fall to your knees in silent respect.
Let yourself be swallowed whole
in a sea of pure insanity.
Sometimes...
you have to go the long way.
Hold your breath and simply jump in...
Let it wash under your fingernails.
And sometimes...
You have to let the color drain away.
Smile, even when the people scream and scatter.
Even when it's coming right at you.
Let it go.
Embrace the ra