What She Used To Be...
Contributed by
marionette
on
Wednesday, 7th June 2006 @ 03:36:15 AM in AEST
Topic:
dedicatedpoems
|
The gentle swaying, the gradual activity
Velocity so swift, no matter who surpasses such celerity.
With arms that wave, in pattern to accelerate rapidity
And limbs pouring out its own soul of victory.
Nobody captures it, nobody knows the pattern
Much as this being is overthrown, mastered, or govern.
A spirit like that of endless strive
Cannot be beaten once, two, three, four, or five.
She runs like the wind, sometimes not fleeting enough
But she hustles like the laggard hurricane, slow yet still as tough.
She was treasured, pleasant, fun, and good at mind
The disposition of one whom would never be rejected by means of mankind.
Racism was never told
Isolation would never behold.
She was graceful, like the wings of a dove
She felt emotions, like us, like love.
She is like the gentle rhythm sung by the wind, by the nightingale, by the heavens
So fast (not enough!) so quick, so forgiven.
But I see the truth, within, without, outer, and inner
The truth is something I cannot say, for you would call me a sinner.
She was known, she was seen
Even through the night, where darkness has always been.
She is their heaven; she is their sunshine
You can ask anything from them and they would give it—
But she is something they would yell out ‘MINE’.
She is so many things, so many reasons.
But my truth to tell you would only be much treason.
She is graceful, vigorous, lively, and agile
But inside, would she always be that fragile.
She is like a song, so gentle, so soft
Like emotions in flight aloft.
She is like the gentle rhythm sung by the wind’s blow
She is neither quick and neither slow.
Like breathing through an infinite nirvana,
She is like the freshest breeze flowing through savanna.
She is warm, she is kind,
She is pure-hearted mind.
- -
But even such perfection
Must come to consummation.
Just like day… just like night…
Her soul, her heart… just fell out of sight.
She is like a rose, a withering rose
For it can only live its perfection, when must chose.
It was impulsive, unforeseen, and abrupt
For such flawlessness had been interrupt.
What she was, what she used to be…
This lithe and robust of such being for all to see.
She was the wind, she was their love
But she fell, not beneath Hades, but ABOVE.
She was SEEN, she was KNOWN
She was beautiful from known and unknown.
The swaying was gentle, the activity was gradual
Even spirit, and satisfaction was residual.
Nobody captured it, nobody knew the pattern
Much as this being was overthrown, mastered, or govern.
A spirit like that of endless strive
Cannot be beaten once, two, three, four, or five.
She ran like the wind, sometimes not fleeting enough
But she hustled like the laggard hurricane, slow yet still as tough.
She was treasured, pleasant, fun, and good at mind
The disposition of one whom would never be rejected by means of mankind.
She was kind, many reasons
But my own is still a treason.
She was loved, she was adored, she was their LOVE
But why had cruelty played tricks on them and sent her above?
No… it was not a deceit but she was just one of those forgiving
Who played the fool and took misgiving.
It never meant for her to die
If never meant for her of this lie.
But, still, as she is, she is gentle and smiling
Hush, it came, the wind is singing.
Hush, the night air has came
Hush, life was put to shame.
Come, come away and bring the silence
It was not her fault, these silence of no violence.
Go, go and bring her back her voice
But you can’t… death must’ve been her choice.
You can’t…
You shan’t…
She is herself
Ne’er thyself.
She… is she
Never once has been you or me.
She must part; she must leave, that is why
To leave this cruel beautiful world by hushed goodbye.
She was all the good things
Yes, she was all those many things.
But even in death as cruel as this…
What she used to be… she still is.
Copyright ©
marionette
... [
2006-06-07 03:36:15]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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