Voices

A girl stood over stories and stories

Touching the clouds and feet hung on the precipice of a sorry action

She closed her eyes to all the ones who declared on to her the ugliness of hate

In slow motion their mouths spit and spat with the utterances of their words like daggers to the heart

Younger her mother was when her loathing of reproduction began and it was not known to the little girl now grown hanging a life in the balance

A time when her mother was the desire of carnal satisfaction of all she adored

In her foolish youth glitter and gold and back to this wrong step she may take another flashback of hate

In which friends befriended betrayed and frayed her soul in pieces for which to start the fire engulfing her in tears and sadness sorrow and pain

A monstrous bunch they were fed on self loathing and hate filling their bellies full

I only tell this from a view held in my eyes

I called to her and leaned in to whisper

Her beauty unmatched by theirs and ever bright

A reply of refutation laid a fate almost assured in her doubt

I countered that superficial coverings had no measure for the beauty she possessed

In her angelic shadow they stood in awe

She stepped to an early embrace and cheers from down below a crowd she could not see

Nor I

In her walk down

Was I there?

The voice she heard her own or something else?