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Withered

She was born in the wilderness

Where people were dead

In mind and soul

And only bodily remains walked

She was the fresh wild blossom

dared

to bloom in the dark

She was the immaculate beauty

Growing each day

She was nature’s winsome creation

Waiting to be slayed.

 

Oblivious to the beasts

Camouflaged with caring touch

It was too late for her to escape

Their strong lustful clutch

Gypped and preyed upon

In devilry so dense

She cried and yelled

In pain intense

As her mournful calls left all unanswered

She lay there shocked, silent, still

Bruised and battered

Sunken eyes, deprived smiles and thoughts all lost

She speechlessly waited

for her life to exhaust

Like withered flowers with petals torn

Her living corpse touched

By hands unknown.

 

There she was, God’s angel, an alluring work of art

Loathing her own esse

In the world so vast

Where legions of deceivers

Still lurk in shadows

Waiting to vandalize soft dreams

Budding to grow.

 

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6 Comments

  1. The poet’s immaculate thought has given a pulsating sense of words.

  2. The poet’s immaculate sense of thought has given a pulsating texture of word.

  3. Children n girls are always soft targets..they must be taught to fight back. Very nice post. 🙂

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