Purple bruises, bloodied cries
A winged girl forever shouts.
Cherry skin, blackened eye
The winged girl cannot fly.
A coloring book body,
An achromatic state of mind.
His fist holds the mercy
That she is trying to find.
Winged girl kneels to pray,
To sleep underwater any day.
Blood sweet as muscat wine,
To drink is free of fine.
His hand is a warm embrace
Straight to her struggling ankles.
Bleeding rainbow through her skin,
To escape seems like a sin.
Hues of purple, red, and blue,
Yet the world holds no clue.
Winged girl has had enough,
Borrowed strength from the orange sun.
Red turns to orange,
Blue transforms to rage,
Purple becomes strength,
Winged girl is ready to fly.
This tale is of not Icarus,
Or how he longed to touch the sun.
This legend is of a girl,
With colorful wings of that of an orange star.
For hope is absence of despair,
Just as orange is of presence of strength.
The winged girl won't touch the sun,
She will bring the bravery that follows it.
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Moon Child | Ongoing
Poetry"Home isn't always four walls. Sometimes it's one warm embrace And two people's heartbeats as one. " - Moon Child (StarHues) Collection of poems mostly tackling about falling in love with someone out of your reach. Musings about the pain of unrequit...
