On her wrist, rests a sample of her Dreams
while the Sun rises from her heart
but she doesn’t know who she is
Two, hovering, white Doves beckon to her
A taste of yearning brushes against her lips
causing her to wonder how
she can keep breathing
for the rest of her life
She finally let go of the naive illusion
which to her way of thinking
had not been much of an intrusion
but certainly did add to a source of confusion
that people were as she saw them to be
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She thought she knew them to be true
that the allowed parts shown
defined the understood who
Now, she knew she’d been the fool
facing the wall, the writing was all she could see
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But if this became a point of turning
where she’d become stronger
in the fine art of discerning
the lesson should be so worth the learning:
What you get may not nearly be what you see
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Heartspell 