Thursday, December 30, 2004

witching hour

On hours such as this
When the chill settles in
Her mind would start to roll
To dredge up emotions within

Moon rays would dance upon
Her windowsills and say
"Sweet kid you must remember,
Honest writing isn’t play"

Though her eyelids felt so heavy
And her fingers felt like lead
Her mind would keep her awake
With thoughts left unsaid

On paper she felt honest
Her views would sprout wings
In this place she felt free
From the embrace of puppet strings

The precocity inside her
Was an infinite well
Of stories unknown
Only she could tell

She may be just a kid
But her intelligence was on a level
Her liberation was deranged
But she was never a rebel

And then the moon started to set
Her imagination was done
The little girl closed her eyesAnd everything was gone.

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