Posted: September 13, 2016 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

The Sun shined today
The Flowers came forth
The Waters bubbled
The Birds, on a high pitch, crooned
The Trees, with fairy smiles, merry
The Skies, softly glowed
The Airs, high-spirited, mirth
Then I, on a comfort sofa, relaxed.

It soon became sudden
When a cry sighed
Tears rhythm the cry’s angst
A melody of breathless hopelessness
Of a tethered emotions
Trampled by an unthoughtful villain
Whose blood breed sadism
The cry, of a hapless countenance.

She is a little girl
She is of life, a neophyte
She, naive of humans, trusts
She, of benign mental scheme
She is innocent, helpless of mundane thoughts
She, of disdain; not a once willing
She is a little damsel
She is, humbly of celestial intentions

She cried to the Airs
She screamed to the Skies
She stammered the Trees names
Her diadem, when she showed, spoke blue
Then the Sun feared, downed
And all turned moody
Her anguish sicked them
Her cries wearied their soul
Her screams quaver their feet
Her face, of seeming tears baptism.

When her mood seemed fair
When the feelings let her, of utterances
She, of jittery mentions and piteous constructs
Sparsely, spoke straight from the shoulder
But her voice shied to be raised
So, of a callous man she talked

He broke her confidence
He grudged her innocence
He messed her ambience
He shattered her conscience
He dimmed her brilliance
He killed her abstinence
He withered her flowers
He trampled her treasure
He stole from her a shining gem
His emotions never seemed remorseful
He raped her
He, of boastful steps, walked away!

He knew it, but her hale sicked his intention
His blood were of colors mixed, equally
He smiled, his sweats commended his actions
His seeds marred her flourishing meadow
When his nonchalant arrow thrust her meadow orifice
He, all together, was nonchalant
So he brewed of his bile-ful blood
And she, and him, dine of it together, forcefully.

It was a Saturday, the Birds were far away
The Snows were of gleeful romance with the Grasses
So, the Beasts and Zebras, up Sahara they tan
The Airs then, of relief be; hid under the Trees
None, nothing was suspicion, of the knowledge acquired
Until he did, and simpered, then walked away
Neither their absence not Inactions saved her breathes.

Now that her spirit is punctured
The detritus of her emotions shy to glow
Lowly their mentions ring; sung by their debris
But beyond the glimpse of sights
Her confidence and delights have journeyed away.

Murphy Simon

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