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"Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood." - Helen Keller

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While She Weeps
Her countenance said it all, her body mattered not

Her fettered look was obvious, more so than her thoughts

Her shoes were lost, here feet were bare, covered in scars

She stood alone in a field so cold, whispering from afar

She stared at the drop of blood, staining her soft, pink gown

The petals of her daisy blew away, and the answer never found


The house that stood behind her, it seemed lost to the sky

The little girl in reverie seemed to catch the eye

The home that used to be had somehow lost its feel

It was now just a house without love, no warmth, unreal

Even the mighty oak that stood just inside the picket fence

It, too, seemed to frown at the loss of the home that it had blessed

It stood alone a marvel, that it could ever be

That the tree and house could stand, and that their pain could be seen


The steps to the door creak no more, for there is no reason

The shutters that happily swayed will never again see the seasons

The loss of the home fire had left the chimney cold

Chains seemed to hold the door so the story could not be told

The only thing in the house, that could make it a home

Was a single lamp on the table, a single flame...alone


Beyond the doors are stories, locked in the little girl's mind

A hearth of eternal happiness, the burnt remnants of her life

The single picture upon the mantle, that of her parents in gown

A happy time when love was true, love that she had never found

The final splinter of wood had long since turned to ash

Nothing more than a memory, only in her past


The dining table, too, had long since seen its last guest

For never again, on this table, would a meal be set

The chairs were ragged, and dust clad they were

Their cloth, yellowed, and aged, looking quite unsure

Even the candle sconce, that made the centerpiece

It too seemed lost, for there would be no other feast


The kitchen stove had grown quite cold, with no one left to feed

The stove would never burn again, there would be no need

The ice-box, which used to cool the family drinks

It was barren of ice and milk, it held not a thing

A wisping wind filled the air, chilling to the touch

It blew along the stairwell which once was used so much


The beds were made, tucked and fluffed, as the would ever be

For, in these beds, never again would someone sleep

The closets held the clothes of those who used them everyday

But, those too are only memories, and they will fade away

The basin beside was polished to a gleaming marble shine

A final act of cleanliness the family left behind


The squeak of the door to the attic seemed to forever last

The only part of the house that remains, to link it to its past

The cobwebs were thick and many, and the light was very scarce

The dust was thick and it blew quick from the wind in the air

The curtains that stood over the attic's only break

They flapped with relentless fury in the wind, and its wake


The center of the attic was home to the wedding gown

That was on her Mother's body, sleeping ever so sound

Her father lay just beside, dressed in full attire

A wedding picture lying there, better than most desire

But, the pool they lay in, it took away the past

And lying next to them, the little girl's bloodied axe


As the wind whispers, and blows the little girl's hair

Deep in thought she still will be, forever standing there

As the petals of her daisy float away in her kiss

Never again will she wonder what life's meaning is

The scars on her feet would heal, for they would be left alone

No more pain would she feel, her life again her own


And though it seems so empty, a house without a home

It is just feeling lonely, for being left alone

Never was this house anything more than a shelter

Now it is feeling lost, for being left without her

And as she stares alone, forever at her dress

She only has to wonder, what, for her, is left


The bloodied axe, so horrid, did not cross her mind

That was in her past, a past best left behind

She only has to wonder, after all is said and done

Is there anything else, or is she the only one

The death of her parents was a feeling she could maintain

But, left alone she wondered, 'what is life if you have no pain'

For the scars on her feet had been caused by her father

She never understood that it was his way of loving her


The little girl was alone now, knowing that pain is love

She could never understand that, when her father drew blood

So the little girl stands, forever in the field

Pondering her life, and the love that she did feel

Without the pain she fears she can never be strong

This love that scarred her pushed her parents to the beyond


That is what she ponders now, the loss of the pain (the love)

She wonders if she hears them calling, from the heavens above

Left alone she sees that though the pain did strive

It was just her father's love, the man who brought her life

The stern cold hands that held her, that beat her bloody red

Those hands were her father's, and her father now was dead


She still forever stands in that field alone

Feeling the pain and misery of being left alone

For those beating she hated, of them she grew quite fond

Now she is left to ponder, painless (loveless) life, or the beyond

This is one of the few things that I have EVER written that I actually can remember the inspiration for. The inspiration was a simple painting hanging on the wall of one of my neighbor's homes back in like 1996 or so. It was a really beautiful oil painting of this little girl standing in like a wheat field right out in front of a picket fence, with a very old house and what appeared to be a dying tree behind her.

The dress that she was wearing was a soft pink color, and it also had lace around the bottom of it. I assume (from her pose) that she was actually looking at the lace on the bottom of the dress in the painting, yet, my mind wandered while I looked at it.

The house was very obviously old. Like pre-electricity type old. So in my little scenario I used the term 'ice-box' as literal, not meaning a refrigerator. I am sure that if you had 100 people look at the same painting I saw they would think that it was meant to be a portrait (well image really, as it was the whole body) of the little girl, probably ordered by the parents. In my twisted little mind it went totally the other way.

I first mused about the look on her face, which was basically stoic. I then thought that perhaps she was looking at her dress because she had made some sort of stain on it, which led to thinking that she was going to be in big trouble, but, with such an expression on her face it seemed she knew that there would be no punishment. That is when I decided that she must killed her parents and that the stain must be blood. I went from there.

Take from it what you will, I just figured that since I remember this one pretty well I would give you an idea of how my mind works. If this all falls into the 'too much information' category for you, please send me a mail about it.

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