She

She is as a twittering bird
in the ocean sky.
Oh my, what a lie!
Of the infectious tide that binds
all sorrows, plagues kept in omen moons
creep swiftly in sharpened hearts.
Her blood wilts to conundrums, with
a twist of her hair, she becomes one.
And she ponders at this question of inevitability.
“Why, oh why me?” She pleads.
But, yet, nothing changes,
Crazed
and Deranged are dancing in her head.

She is as an ancient tiger,
in the fallen hearth.
Oh how she swallowed a poisoned dart!
With an uncanny window in her eyes,
and blood encircling the red skies,
She tore a shoved page from her mind.
Her wit ended when She was born, for
She lost her love in floating waves.
And She thought she could have been saved.
“Woe is me!” She is not brave.
But all this has changed,
Is finished
And undone to happen again.