Autobiography Poem by grace mariner

There is a story, a tale unspoken.
It whispers of magick, some of the supernatural,
others of smoke and mirrors.
It is terrifyingly beautiful,
and hauntingly sad.
Lighter than air it ascends
to falls like leaden oak.
Fouled by abuse, sweetened by love.
Starving and gluttonous, shape contorting to please
a rabid audience.
Thick gray clouds over fields.
Thick gray lids over caskets.
Both strewn with flowers.
Loving mothers, damaged.
Damaged mothers, scarring.
Life is what we make it but also what is dealt to us
by the Devils hand.
It remains unspoken, the ending never known
until its too late to tell.