"You will not live to forty,"
She said quietly...
Her voice was hoarse
In an attempt to converse
With the people from her visions.
Or was it all a daydream,
A hallucination by the stream
Of unconscious thoughts
Running through cerebral realm...
But she could see them,
She remembered the first time
She ever had that experience.
She did not call them;
They just appeared
In the reflection of a mirror.
There was one so distinct,
His grin froze her blood,
Bald and short,
Yet stronger that most.
Even far away from mirrors
They followed her still.
Next she knew darkness all that fell.
Awakened by another dark hill..
They visited twice more,
But messages they never bore...
Intuition gave way to superstition.
"Never predict your death. It's bad omen."
Living or dead, it makes no difference.
Unlucky with love she has always been.
She loved a hundred times before,
But no man could her adore.
She is weird, funny, and sarcastic,
Nevertheless she is also fantastic.
Living or dead, it makes no difference.
No father nor mother would be moved.
Never proud despite all efforts.
They were always pushing her
Towards the edge of compromise.
Comparison was their weapon,
To strip away all her reason.
There is only one that might remember
All the good she could surrender.
A friend that lasted for year
Despite separation and long despair.
"Fool yourself not by false hope,"
Said the voice with hand on shoulder,
"No one will miss a girl like you."
"Special, Oh yes, but never true."
"You never loved and never hoped"
"That life would give you forever more."
"Your fears would take so many shapes"
"I am but one, a face, a voice, a mishap."
"Deny me. Still, I'll come again,"
"And you will see further disdain."
"You will not live to forty,"
She hoarsely said and quietly...
A voice replied, so sure, so stern:
"To predict one's death is bad omen,"
"So stop these nonsense lies woven"
"By devil or insecurities your own."
"Forget not all you have done."
"Be strong, be faithful, be sane."
"The world listens not to an insane."
She waited a while to hear the voices.
She never stopped weighing her choices.
Looking about her, she found no being,
To confirm anything that she was hearing.
Her sight had always been slowly fading,
But no sight needed as night starts falling.
The drapes of darkness had taken all time,
And sleep was calling to claim her prime.
"Good night sweet love, you had a chance."
"Now all things given, let's end our dance."
© A Furious Child
She said quietly...
Her voice was hoarse
In an attempt to converse
With the people from her visions.
Or was it all a daydream,
A hallucination by the stream
Of unconscious thoughts
Running through cerebral realm...
But she could see them,
She remembered the first time
She ever had that experience.
She did not call them;
They just appeared
In the reflection of a mirror.
There was one so distinct,
His grin froze her blood,
Bald and short,
Yet stronger that most.
Even far away from mirrors
They followed her still.
Next she knew darkness all that fell.
Awakened by another dark hill..
They visited twice more,
But messages they never bore...
Intuition gave way to superstition.
"Never predict your death. It's bad omen."
Living or dead, it makes no difference.
Unlucky with love she has always been.
She loved a hundred times before,
But no man could her adore.
She is weird, funny, and sarcastic,
Nevertheless she is also fantastic.
Living or dead, it makes no difference.
No father nor mother would be moved.
Never proud despite all efforts.
They were always pushing her
Towards the edge of compromise.
Comparison was their weapon,
To strip away all her reason.
There is only one that might remember
All the good she could surrender.
A friend that lasted for year
Despite separation and long despair.
"Fool yourself not by false hope,"
Said the voice with hand on shoulder,
"No one will miss a girl like you."
"Special, Oh yes, but never true."
"You never loved and never hoped"
"That life would give you forever more."
"Your fears would take so many shapes"
"I am but one, a face, a voice, a mishap."
"Deny me. Still, I'll come again,"
"And you will see further disdain."
"You will not live to forty,"
She hoarsely said and quietly...
A voice replied, so sure, so stern:
"To predict one's death is bad omen,"
"So stop these nonsense lies woven"
"By devil or insecurities your own."
"Forget not all you have done."
"Be strong, be faithful, be sane."
"The world listens not to an insane."
She waited a while to hear the voices.
She never stopped weighing her choices.
Looking about her, she found no being,
To confirm anything that she was hearing.
Her sight had always been slowly fading,
But no sight needed as night starts falling.
The drapes of darkness had taken all time,
And sleep was calling to claim her prime.
"Good night sweet love, you had a chance."
"Now all things given, let's end our dance."
© A Furious Child
