Gypsy Don't Cry Poem by Kewayne Wadley

The Gypsy sat at the edge of her folding chair
Watching the events unfold at the local bazaar
She'd often sit and write in her worn notebook
Pages discolored from the length of time she's had it
Her eyes filled most of the pages with pain she's felt
The submissive distance between giving and accepting
Lacking patience she often stared at the sky
Wondering the limitless possibilities of the stars that lit the galaxy
How they seemed to roam so easy, free.
Without any strings or anything to keep them in place
She could give to her hearts content but could not receive
Her stepfather ruled out the possibility of being one to easily trust.
The storm that never ceased in the ocean of her eyes
Constant waves that crashed against the barrier she built so long ago
Her stand of hand woven shirts and trinkets made little to no money
Still she'd smile seeking simplicity.
Her beautiful brown hair flowed like silk, tinted in gray ash
It often shone it's brightest in the sun.
She'd sit in her folding chair and sulk, lost in thought
She wasn't one to keep company
Although she yearned for it deeply, a constant fear ate away at her soul
Sectioned off from the rest of the stands conversing with life.
There she was alone, intoxicated with the thought of regret
She experimented making different potions and elixirs
None of which ever seemed to work.
An overcast of tears overflowed the wells of her eyes
As she'd sit and watch the rest of the world pass her by
Until it was time to fold her chair up awaiting good fortune