Where is that compassionate soul?
The girl who wept at tears not hers
who now walks past the homeless,
pretends they don't exist,
that she doesn't care.
No longer wishing for mankind's goodness,
longing instead for diamonds, clothes, sophistication.
She lives her life fearfully,
waiting for death's fingers to touch her,
watching and trusting none enough
to show them truly who she is,
what she longs to be;
Who she was once upon a time
- a compassionate soul,
a girl who weeps at tears not hers
posted by Becca @ 3:21 pm
2 Comments:
I meant to say the other day that I think your turns of phrase just keep getting better and more elegant. I also meant to say that you smell of wee. Just to restore the balance.
I actually take both as compliments. Truly. Elegant wee I hope. I am gazing out of a dusty window at the India my Mother once knew....
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