I’m Sorry, I can’t be your Princess

The tears threaten to spill
To show the world what’s inside
But I hold them back with iron will
None need see what lies within
They wouldn’t understand even if they did

I’m simple yet complexity
Soft but impenetrability
You try to help, but I regress
I’m not your damsel in distress

I wanted to be the knight
But my strength is never there
So I wait in hope with tears to fight
For someone to come riding here

Do I wait in vain? For someone who’s not there
Or is someone waiting for their cue
No matter the truth
I remain here
Hiding, crying, wishing
Someone would hear
And yet I want to be alone
So not to spread my misery
To those who live so happily
I cower in my corner
All Alone

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Music Box

She twirled around the abandoned hall; her perfect, movements fluid.
The yellow fabric of her dress rustling with every movement.
She danced to music none could hear.
Upon her toes she pranced,
light, buoyant,
memory locked deep inside,
brought to the surface only by the music.
Like her dress, her dark hair flowed,
glowing, shimmering
with deep red hues in the low lighting.
Her waves tamed only by a small tiara upon her brow.
Her fingers loose,
free of any partner’s hand,
and still she danced,
unceasing as the music played on.

The child watched,
her brown hair flowing down her back,
she watched the red headed dancer spin,
blue eyes tracing the perfect form,
dreaming as the music plays.
But the music begins to slow,
coming to a halt.
The young child sighs and closes the lid,
stopping the music.
In the absence of the music,
the beautiful dancer collapses,
falling to the abandoned dance floor in a heap.
Small fingers turn the dial, winding it again.
Slowly, those fingers lift the lid once more,
reviving the dancer,
the music box continuing to play entrancing tones
as the young girl stares into it,
dreaming.

Without Ceasing

Thanks be to God
For he hears our prayers
He sees our tears
And he understands
He hears hearts grieve
And he lends his hands
To hold us up
To lift us up
Father you are worthy
Worthy to be praised
Gracious a Dios!
For he heard me when I prayed
For I did as he commanded
Knowing he would answer
I prayed without ceasing

Praise God! I still have my friend, she is still with me!

Fingertips

As she danced, with flowers in her hair,
bare feet twirling across the grass,
a song on her lips,
a tune in her throat,
she sings to the rising sun.
Arms open wide
the sun kisses her cheeks and accepts her warm salutation.
So she lies in the grass,
the blades tickling her face as her eyes rove the sky.
The clouds are her dreams and they change as she grows,
ever they are at her fingertips…yet just out of reach.

Broken

The great beast snorts
A mighty breath.
The oppressor sports
A determined stance.
Poetry in motion, intoxicating potion
Of hair and hooves and eyes.
The black on cerulean, a sight to be seen
As the stallion rears toward the sky.
The man approaches
The horse retreats
As danger encroaches
The battle will cease.
With fire and wind, the long whip descends
The flesh streaked with blood, a torrent, a flood
Runs down the poor beast’s flank
The fall to its knees
A smile on his lips
A horrible plea
His hands on his hips
A bridle, a saddle, the reins his command
A spirit none own dies under his hand.