Her little face looks out on nothing
A simple carving of her visage
Watching without looking at our lives,
Swimming past in some mirage
Of hours and weeks and months,
Passing by, tear-stained.
Gold sifting slowly through her hands
Fine and fingerless, they stroke our pain,
A chain of gold, grasped in wood
And porcelain to gaze upon our age
As gold and time slide quickly past,
One to stop and one to encage,
One to stop flowing like your heart
Now cold and ashen in your rest.
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@Delilah
Just an average 17-yr-old from Northern Ireland. Kik: Delilah_95
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