Posted in Poetry, short fiction


If what she believed was but a story, why strip her naked of all her words? Cruel men take charge, dream up schemes to rule, trample the flowers under foot and risk dangling from stars. What person would dare take another’s soul and damn it to hell? 

She survived the greatest battle of old. A man took her without regard and left her to die. In callousness heard not her cry. A razor to her wrists and a knife to her neck. Dreams of ropes and guns and bottles of pills. 

Nothing cleared her memory. The forest, the trees, and the moon shone through and hit her eyes with lazor beams. She screamed “God where are you?” Silence. Night is full of silence and strange noises. All the more stark with no background to fill in the spaces.

She couldn’t walk. Numbness ran down her spine. Screams echoed in her body and the earth shook from her vibes. The clouds gathered as a cloak to keep her safe. And she died. Forever to walk in an empty shell. A life sentence of hell.

Her only hope resides in her fairy tale. A story woven of hope and faith and love, where grace abounds and eternity accepts all who believe. A balm that often cracks so oil is applied continually, to keep her heart from bitterness. 

Her road is a trap of sorts. Slithering surrounds her feet, slinking past her temples. Who guards the past and frees the future to move on? She is not a warrior. Only a survivor. A phoenix He calls her. He, her only friend. 

The end.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s