Shadowed figures in the darkness
she disappears in a flash of light
pain, confusion and distress
in the middle of the night.
A prayer, a cry drowns in vain
in a room with no windows
with no escape from this pain.
That’s all she’ll ever know.
Her soul dreams of loving angels
Where hate is her daily bread.
Dreaming of love and wings
But being free means to be dead.
A concrete angel stares at the sky
cold and quiet beneath a tree
standing post to a lonely grave.
A dead girl’s new address.
When she lived, no one saw
No one cared, no one knew.
That a bitter lullaby in the air
rocked her bones to sleep.
© 2014 Anan Celeste