Thursday, October 25, 2012

THE KITE

We chase a flying kite,
in the fields we are dressed in white,
to the society we must appear right,
but our conscience is roaming dark far from social light,
it fights,
a woman's heart is a cave of secrets,
that only the conscience regrets,
so they fight,
oh they fight, my heart my mind...

We fly a dead kite, our faces must stay clear,
not a shadow of fear,
even when death is near,
a woman's strength is what she wears,
Shh,
they can never see my fears,
my tears,
oh they fight,
my mind my heart.

We bring down a flying kite,
center it from the view of various sites,
observations;
we do not just by sight,
the inner broad eyes, the mind,
oh they fight,
my mind my heart.

We are buried a broken kite,
but they know not of our fights,
they sing praises of our might,
a woman is a rock,
this they say in mock,
or not,
but how could they have known,
oh they fight,
my heart my mind.

My death
.
.....the end.....

.....all rights reserved

Note: this piece is written in pitiful admiration of a woman's strength