Cast away in the shadows with all her fears,
She huddles in the corner as the end nears.
Crying and suffering is all that’s left.
Being torn away feels almost like theft.
Dark and dull this world spins round.
As everyone else clings to the ground.
Nothing seems wrong but nothing seems right.
As she turns around to the see the light.
It shines so bright that it puts in shadows,
that are so thin that they make everything seem like battles.
The strings hang around her pulling her this way and that.
They make her like a puppet, doing everything perfect and right up to bat.
Suddenly it stings right across her face,
As the hand slips away she sees a white space.
Water wells up in her eyes,
The moment, she realizes realizes everyone dies.
She looks at herself face-to-face,
In a mirror that has no base.
In her mind she knows she is dead,
But outside she sees nothing but red…
This was from my high school days, when I thought poetry had to rhyme. Little did I know that words can string together to make beautiful poetry without rhyming.
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