Excerpt from ‘Rebirth Of A Desolate Soul’ (a narrative poesy)

Young Girl

Tears flow from her eyes as she frantically sits alongside her bed, with whimpering cries being her only friend. She rises and looks to her mirror, hoping that her reflection would soon grow clearer.

“I hate you! You’re hideous,” she screams; such a pure beauty with a vision unclean.

The sun would shine that next morning despite the young girl’s perpetual yearning. ‘Twas a new day, a new state and hopefully an invisible cauldron of self-hate.

“When I leaned over to look at my rippled reflection in the lily covered pond, I see someone with a vision forgone; never a girl and never a boy – I see a broken angel, a shattered toy.”

“I walk the halls and no one ever knows; a dark cloud, torn and tethered clothes – barely even a sight for sore eyes; an invisible blanket cloaked with tears that I cry.”

“I daydream while I sit in class – the teacher drools on and on… and waddles her ass; I gaze to the night sky under an umbrella, rain drops fall and my eyes begin to swell; I hear a voice in the distance – tis the one that I seek. Is it my own? Or simply my dream has gone weak…”

And so she sleeps with the counted sheep, an endless dream that she wishes to reap. A confused mind with no time, when her head hits the pillow she dreams of sleeping willows – each hanging vine beholds a different place in time.

And though her shadow sits upon the wall while raindrops peck, it seems the only time peace consumes her and when her eyes wake there’s nothing left. She speaks from her dream: “It seems the only time that I won’t fall is when I’m fast asleep and staring at the reflection of the northern lights projection – guiding me to myself in the land of obscurity, lifting me up and giving me purity.”

“Lonesome little star, we’re not so different from one and other; shining so bright, waiting for someone to admire our beauty – little do we know that it’s only our duty. They yell, they shout, they scream – yet in the crowds it’s a distraction unseen.”

The young girl sits and writes, a wayward poet, a drunken night; the moon is upside down and blood red – the unconscious monster of spry words unsaid: “…and so the night awaits me while my thoughts hate me – shall I escape and forever seal my fate?”

“Many times throughout the day I look to the sky to find my way – “A young girl in a cruel world,” so they say; my feelings have come to haunt me – habitual thoughts, the have’s and have not’s have once again come to haunt me.”

“I run to the water and stare at my reflection; a rippled thought and my mind of the wreckage. They taunt me and exclude me but I don’t let it confuse me – I’m a star, closer to the moon and shining brighter than they are. A note to the one who loves me: my dreams, my visions, are all from above me.”

As she walks through the woods and counts her steps, pondering the thoughts of what’s left; she stumbles upon a glowing wand – and a frightening witch singing a torturous song: “Death will find you, death runs through you – may your heart spoil and your soul turn cold blue; you ruined me once and killed my voice – you disappeared and left me without choice.”

“Another day passes while I look for you, staring at the black sky until it turned blue – if we could live infinite then how spoiled would we be? We have the mind of a dreamer and the body of a tree.”

“Dear no one, free me from this prison – I write you daily but no one seems to listen; I speak your name as if I’m insane – and sometimes when I look into the mirror, I forget your name. They say ‘If you have something to say they’ll listen, but if you never speak you’ll forever be missing.’”

“You’re endlessly lost and at what cost? All is just an illusion; it’s not just the hours of sleep that you’re losing – the purpose is deeper than the roots that are growing; it’s more than the meaning, it’s more than the knowing.”
It seems the reflection told all, it was beyond a telegram and beyond a crystal ball – the young girl turned witch, filled with hatred inside, lost because of society, with blood in her eyes. She saw into the future, she saw it perfectly clear; Death is an Angel – she was living in fear. Bitterness and anger, hatred and regret, losing her sense of self, erasing what is left. A change must be made to erase the cards that have been laid – her reflection has grown much clearer, no longer in love with herself but a realization much nearer. For too long she’s been here or there – for too long she’s been prisoner and no longer can she bear.

And though she had a look of fear in her eyes, a look of madness finally subsides; a lover, a nurturer, untamed from the scorned – a free life she seeks, but it can only be yearned.

The witch arises from the muck and chants: “I’ll destroy you, conquer your deepest fears – I’ll make you understand being human by shedding your tears,” as she hovers above the pond – the girl is in awe but not too far gone. “You’ve stopped me in your tracks – such flawless beauty but with a wounded back; you carried me with you for all these years, now let me go and embrace your fears.”

The young girl opens her eyes and releases her tears; the forest then breathes and the wild ones cheer – self-realization has the power to erase all of time and all of past – it’s within oneself that we can last.

©  2020 Michael Angel Loayza Jr.

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