My precious rare treasure, oh how long have you been aching.
I can hear you crying out for a break. You are so tired, tired of the woes of men.
Tired of the empty promises, the potentials.
Tired of the what we could have and should have been.
Tired of the disappointments and trickery of beings that don't know how to love.
You have become a wounded soldier, on the side lines of the war grasping for air.
It's like the hope inside causes you to go back on the battlefield,
believing- no they aren't all alike.
You're grasping for air as your throat longs to be quenched with vitality and love.
How long will you continue dear solider, to hurt the innocent one.
I cry out for the wand, the magical wand of a world where I heart no more.
That I'll never have to worry about being taken for a fool.
Never have to worry if I am being used.
Never have to worry if I am not your only one.
One day, I'll be united with my true love says the heart, in a world of darkness.
Then it came to me, that perhaps I am that true love which I seek,
and no one will be able to save me but me.
Nicole Reid
