If I may muster up the courage,
I'd brush the dust from my scars and stand again,
I can't even begin to recall what normal is,
but I am a slave to it.
Tattered and torn are my sentiments towards war,
yet things must die to become alive,
I whistle with the wind,
wrestling with the silence within.
The pain she holds as life begins to spin,
things must die to grow back again,
she carries on with smiles and hopes for a day,
hoping hard for hope to have its stay.
If I may muster up the courage,
I'd soak up the tears from your eyes and be your guide.
If only I could recall what normal is,
for I am a slave to it.
Striving and searching is my heart on its wayward path,
to find a light, a hope to calm this wrath,
will my thirst be quenched, my soul satisfied?
Would I even know it if it passed me by?
The comfort she holds as she continues to spin,
things must die to live again,
she carries on with smiles and hopes for a day,
hoping hard for hope to makes its stay.
<3
C