There scattered, hope, in ashes, where once glory,
Razed, despair had pillaged where she lived,
Sacrificed at altar of confusion, this her story,
Naked, vulnerable, still wants to give.
There, beneath the crumble of destruction,
Oppressive weights that shackled, paralysed,
Dispersing now, on wind, to seek solution,
Regeneration from the monsoons of sad eyes.
There, before she flees, upon a light breeze,
Fragments for the taking, if you will,
In pockets, she is carried, saved for our ease,
In pieces, all too often, she lives still.
scottishmomus 