She maintains a very reserved disposition,
Soulful eyes shielded by an azure fringe;
Selflessness within her sweet submission.
So quiet, she does not seek to impinge,
Intent on believing that she is a burden,
She rarely utters even a sentence;
No desire to get a soft word in,
She lives a life of pained repentance.
Worried she lacks the privilege of meeting your eye,
Her sweet gaze often falls upon the floor.
Those dainty hands feel like ice within mine,
Turned cold by a body and mind at war.
To help you feel well, I'll do whatever I can -
I promise that to you, my Marianne.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
