Paragraphs bleed onto a page
Like a stone, covered in blood.
Many believed the parable
But it stuck to them like mud.
Rage cured what it could
But it didn’t solve the crime.
Battles happen every day
Even in a rhyme.
A bird gently perches on a branch
Asks for nothing, but sky.
We all gained the reputation of sinners
Yet none of us ask why.
She was a blank canvas of beauty
Strangers left their mark.
She grew dim without light to feed her
The outlook, quite stark.
Sharing the stones she carried
Failed to find her muse.
A spark met an ignitor once
She lit the fuse.
When her breath sounds delightful
Yet all her friends have cringed.
Don’t worry, she’ll go back to who she was..
She’s just a little unhinged.