Broken Storm

Ray's POV*

I quickly glance at my clock.
It's late.
I should be asleep, but I'm not.
Instead, I sit here in my bed, staring at my blank journal page, red pen in my hand, gone still.
Yet my mind is writing like crazy.

Slowly, I drag my hand across the page, words flowing from my pen and escaping my brain.
It's hard to write poetry like Thorne does.
I guess this will have to
Suffice.

Open your eyes
I hate seeing our baby cry.
A perfect angel,
Fallen from grace.
Her silent call for help
Can not awaken one such as you
Lost in coma.

Open your gold flecked eyes,
I hate to see our baby cry.
You lay silent on the cement
Much like a long dead king.
One that will always be loved.

Open your goddamned eyes.
Can't you hear our baby cry?
Her tears like cyanide,
Lips like morphine.
They're calling for help as she drowns in grace.
You’re too far away to save her.

Why won’t you open your eyes?
Do you like seeing our baby cry?
Her pain like a voodoo doll with which we play?
Why does she loose her life for you when she could be alive and free?
Why won't you open those eyes?