Poem / wrecked castle

Photography - Sheridan’s Art
Crown - Hysteria Machine

She lived in the womb of dreams
where most fairies go to die.
Lost in deep abyss she seems to be,
Accepting fear for a feeling undefined.

Dressed in her modest cologne;
And pink bows on her chest.
Keeping her vows onto herself alone,
Pretending to not really exist.

White walls and bricks build her soul.
Capturing her into the bosom of the dark.
Fight your demons, crawl through your hole,
Step into the sunlight once more.

But her body is close to the temple of god
Scribbled in gold,
Withered by stones.
Not held down but held back,
a slave; engraved in her bones.

A broken soul wandering in the shadows of the night.
A virgin of love under the twilight sky.
Grey vines around her feet.
A puzzle piece,
Always incomplete.

The aroma of fresh air
around her, almost everywhere.
the incense of freedom in every breath.
Always reminds her of home.

10 thoughts on “Poem / wrecked castle

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