She sees through ugly
Her eye torn into darkness
Her gait leftover fancy
Of a lifetime of duress
She prays to the Gods
Her hands temple of fervours
Her mind beating the odds
Through failing faith that hovers
She adjusts composure
Her mouth a tomb of secrets
Her heart seeks closure
Her chest a book of regrets
She breathes sunlight
Her nose a cathedral
Her shoulders set into fight
Tomorrow a sight feral
Reading of the poem:
Geetha Balvannanathan's Blog - Isis Tratum
She will recover
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Thanks Derrick 🙂 . Yes she must.
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