Posted: April 5, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

Birds call out
A soprano sings a jumbled line
covered in synth.
She walks along the midnight trail,
marked by the high moon.
She lowers her hood,
wide blue eyes
taking in all they can,
wishing for a straight path.
The rocky road is torn,
filled with triggers of her past.
She collapses to one knee,
eyes streaming tears,
as she remembers him,
her father,
at his wake:
Cold, pale skin
decorated in the best dress
only to be buried.
In her mind a keyboard echos lightly,
singing a high melody.
She stands up,
eyes wet,
eyes bloodshot as she marches forward,

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