The Chances

Vicious curling arms encased the smallest of seeds

Wrought in fear and darkness of the acidic, unfeeling minds;

They creep ever so slowly to rot the virgin inside.

 

A solitaire princess, atop the glass throne,

Never forgives and rarely forgets the tragedies

From seeking the dearest hearts to look upon her broken mirage.

 

One flight was all it would take, one touch to break the spell

To conquer the ocean, and thus to live a free soul,

Crossing the unknown and that which is known to man…

 

One word could alter the chaos, and set right the pendulum;

While the Father can only watch, unwilling to aid,

The brushes of fate keep fading with the moon’s shadow.

 

As the telltale thunder bolt that stopped the flood

Crashes against the wall of the human heart–a flesh easily wounded;

A spirit unbound by tedious patterns hides itself in diffidence.

 

Growing, it shall gain wisdom; feeling, she shall gain dreams,

As the seed flourishes, a kinder being smiles,

For the chances that had been taken were but a whisper of the heart

 

Of how a young maiden would paint the garden of Eden

The colour of contentment, an ever eclipsing happiness

Rising and ever transcending, unsurpassed in its magnitude.

 

Then the seedlings shall soar above the yearning clouds–

A wish to escape the cruelty of fences that break the fragile branches;

As the witching hour waxes, they shall wound us no more.