Girl

 

Little girl, little girl

you love your laugh and the arc of

the rainbow, wind carrying you swift

down the undulating meadow.

You own the world with a smile,

your smile, a hint of blush, loud rush of

freedom, giggling past life’s stream, blissful

the mundane pleasures of heart.

Your tears melt stone, tear the

raging inferno, open the tombs of every

mighty soldier who never  so flinched

to the gun’s thunder.

And yet, my dear, you

seek why he doesn’t play with you

anymore, no more you feel a child,

ever since it began flowing between

your legs: red, thick and murkily sad.

You blush with a thunderous hush

at the looks of lust and desire, unbound

feeling your bosom, temptation abound.

And you will weep, my dear, the

tears no more precious, your laugh made

silent and untrue; a ragged doll of unknown

rage and sorrow of morrow you become.

Men who pinched your cheerful

behind, who mouthed words shameful,

they wander free; clad in irony, warm in

agony, you become nothing but a bird, 

which forgot its song.