To See The Light

The twilight silhouette,

against gentle amber light.

She seeks refuge but yet,

frightened by the black of night.

A child she remains,

no matter time nor age.

Locked with a tomb,

of festering bleeding wounds.

She pleads.

Does anyone see,

what’s become of me?

She is lost and misguided,

by those who had no right.

Her inquiring mind full of wonder,

and yet her skies full of lightning and thunder.

Where is the key,

to rid herself of this?

She asks, what of me?

To see the light her only wish.

Linda Booth


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