In The Dead Of Night

In the dead of night,
Underneath the moonlight, she waits,
Elegantly poised, she listens
To the painful words of fates,

They whisper to her promises,
They know they can never keep,
And in the darkness of despair,
All she can do is weep.

In the dead of night,
The embodiment of pain,
Is personified and resurrected,
In the form of meddling rain.

The downpour never ceases,
Refusing point blank to leave,
Silently, it begins to fill her,
Until she can barely breath,

In the dead of night,
The rain mingles with her tears,
Consumed in a web of tangled lies,
Where she is forced to face her fears.

Until sorrow begins to contain her,
And she is addicted to her grief,
Waiting until her life turns golden,
Like a pale, autumn leaf.

In the dead of night,
She’s bathed in the light of the moon,
which washes over her translucent skin,
The time to act is soon.

The window panes are fogged,
They look in through the doorway,
Thoughts laced with fear surround her,
Yet she is forced to stay.

In the dead of night,
They whisper; lies and cold hard truths.
She will never be allowed to win,
She has no choice; she must lose.

Like a cat, she stretches,
Her back arched and sleek,
She ignores what they want,
Redemption she will seek.
.
In the dead of night,
She cries; a force she can’t control.
From heaven she was sent,
Only just to fall.

Now she sits, and waits in sin,
A life one must never lead,
It brings hatred to a boil,
As it festers and it feeds.

Silently, she looks over her shoulder,
Her skin a pale white
She knows that he is here,
He is here, in the dead of night.