Hmmm...not sure if this turned out exactly like I wanted it too, but I still like it.
There is She,
Who speaks of fire,
Dreams of stars.
She,
With a rust-red mane of tight-curled locks
And green eyes that sparkle
With demon’s mischief.
She is hidden
In the darkest place
Not good, nor evil,
But her power?
Frightening.
Sometimes, when I am alone,
I am She
A wraith, a spirit
A slice of soul
Uncomprehendable, different, mighty.
Changed.
Changed to She,
Who whispers to the flames,
Who wishes to be in the night,
High, high in the night.
Where no one can touch her.
Sometimes, when I am alone,
I am She.
Who speaks of fire
And dreams of stars.
