Green leaves dance in the wind
as the sun burns down.
It is not the sun she wants
as she wanders down the shaded path.
Shadows stretch out their hands,
pulling at her dress.
A cold hand touches her cheek,
and the rain drops begin to fall.
There is no fear in her eyes,
she knows nothing of life's trials.
As she walks down its path
with the shadows' hands on her dress.
She pushes through the brush
in hopes of finding her way back.
It's red eyes wander on to her,
a new puppet for its mischeif.
It holds her in its grasp
and she only sees home.
Her smile returns
and suddenly, it all stopped.
Claws lashed out against her
and all chance of beauty is in vain.
Every day, in the mirror she cries.
The scars are still on her face.
The monster holds her heart
as she searches for what she once knew.
But the monster will never let go.
He never planned to.
A/N: This is however you interpret it. Let me tell you, this is a very difficult poem to write, especially because of the rhythm and trying not to rhyme. If I screwed up, please tell me. This is a METAPHOR though, so if you take it literally, then I really am annoyed.
Thank you and take care.
