an attempt at poetry

chapter one: 'she'

She seeks a touted amity,

But dreams  of war and riot,

Something to set her aching heart at bay,

Cause its been so long since she's heard quiet,

She refuses to share mediocre jokes with who raised her,

Her mind believes the nearing future approaches slowly unseen,

And trusts a heart's welfare in the hands of a desolate rumor,

So this deception quickly becomes a talent,

And the paint remains untouched on the palette,

Due to the absence of faith,

On the only body she holds the strings of,

She hides among the crowd,

'till even those she sweared would never find love,

Bring to naught all she vowed,

And they dishonored everything she was,

At the sight of a shrinking cage of claws,

Howling like a wolf at midnight,

She'd let a string of words out when airtight,

For she was painted to be the very last to begin a fist fight.