Desolate

A selfless beam of light has traveled,

Bent against sticks and moved through glass,

Through the dirt and through the grass,

Yet it was not lost nor destroyed.

A passing pair of wings wonder-struck,

A gaping question flashed unheard,

"Could it ever be mine?" she asked,

And flew past with mounds of doubt.

With truth seeping into her soul, 

She knew nothing could ever be hers,

For she wasn't hers and neither was her self ,

She is owned, ordered and tread upon.

As an enchanting world smiles at her,

Which she ought not embrace,

Her wounds are never allowed to heal,

But salted in everlasting memory.

While her heart soars away into dreams,

Her mind knows better and is convoluted,

A foot in reality and another in abstractness,

Her false world, truly her own has her desolate.

~ Pixie