There’s this emptiness reverberating within her. This emptiness, to its power, she has succumbed. It is the voice of her very mind and the song of her heart. The master and she the slave.

Star upon gallant star a wish is wished each night. When the moon is full; high in the sky do these wishes upon wind take flight. Yet aloud, should she ever dare, let these secrets be known, she risks the dreadful plight that they shall loose all merit and might.

By herself she lives dormant, from her true self she’s locked away. No mirror or glass or picture has ever captured who she is to date. She is but a mere shadow of the person she had once known. A ghost roaming the halls, a ghost who longs for a home.

And though she is but lost, her mind she can never escaped. Forever condemned to a saddened mind state. And this is her confusion not knowing where she belongs. Not knowing what, for her, is right, and what can be frightfully wrong.

Is there another who thinks or feels the pain she feels? Is there another like her who isn’t all too real? Who lives without complete life, who has died but is not dead. Who’s confusion leave them wandering in a blizzard of dread? Is she but a dying race, a person forever alone? Without the hopeful hope of ever finding her true home?

Speak and she will listen. Invite her in and she will come. But these gestures are all mistaken, she is not a child who will play dumb. She longs for a union, a tie, a sort of bond. One sole invitation shall not melt her sadness to make her fond.

A true friend she wishes, a true friend indeed. One who’ll see her expressions and one who’ll take heed. A friend that she can love and know there’s hope so true. That in a world of old, a friend found, to bring anew.

Hope is the thought that never fails to cast its single line. For it is hope that she depends on to bring her a friendship that’s divine.

Danielle Fonseca ©  October 2007