Stained cheeks of pestilence strained heart, whenever shall
she learn. Not now not never, she shall always be the same. Dredged in the weighty thoughts of minds own
course and wills own bland verbose, when shall she ever learn?
To take the cheeks of loved ones on her breast and welcome
in that warmth, to stay near and not far from what she cares. When shall she
learn? Tears staining paths of what was laid before however shall they learn to
fall on accord? That path determined by so far fallen, when shall she ever
learn?
Break the enchantment her mind wails, beat the control her
will fails, when shall she ever learn? Too bite her lip and draw the flesh, to
break the walls and move past the wept, how will she ever learn? Press forward
young girl, brandish your smile and warm your heart, break the trance and melt
the funk…work your magic and still your soul.
Sun washed hopes and tanned cheeks of old, when will their
skin hold. From now till then? Or will they fold. Render the mold and cast its
gold, sheet its wanders and confront its cold; break the cold and snap the old.
Lest we forgot the one who’s never learned, lest we allow our minds to forgive.
Break the mold and shower the old.
