YÙGEN; A Collection Of Poems

The Girl

Over the bed,
I see her face.
Her hands painted red,
Her shirt made of lace.

I attempt to shout,
Yet I fall short.
Nothing comes out,
and I can't see her skirt.

I want to leave here,
But she's blocking the door.
With the chain at her ear,
I can't do it anymore.

I yell at this girl,
I tell her to leave.
I hear a faint quarrel,
And it is obvious their's grief.

I hear a wisp,
And I see a flash of light.
It sounds like a whip,
When she fades into the night.

But I know she'll come back,
She's never gone for long.
I notice a crack,
In what's right and what's wrong.