She Whispers The Seasons Poem by chris schwartz

Be careful with the heart of her wounded soul.
The tongue of her demon mother
Has painted her corner brightly
With the luminous colors of hate
Branding her, before she ever
Was allowed to bloom
A young, delicate, plant,
Trying to sift its way through the dirt,
And rise towards the sun!

Be cautious of the mind, of her injured soul
Eyes that have closed tightly
Never allowed to shine brightly
Not seeing the light
Which illuminates upon most
The wall that was built, yes,
It is strong, and she stands guarded.
Though, sometimes, it's hard
To dream, when she can't see the sky
Beyond it.

Be leery of a future with her,
She could tell you with her smile
How the sun sets so quickly
And how it rises way too fast.
Don't even ask her about the ocean,
She'll paint you a picture
Of dark creatures in the past.
That have flooded her with tears,
And swallowed her whole
Before her heartbeat stopped.
She waits for you, silently,
Days longing with thirst,
But don't let her take a drink
For she will crumble,
Putting you first.

If she makes it through winter,
If you bring her until spring
She'll plant a garden of colors,
Waiting for you to shine again.