She doesn’t walk in beauty like the night,
But in the path of menace as it sways,
Around her, to her left and to her right,
It bars her progress in a thousand ways.
And nothing good that’s either dark or bright
Meets in her clouded aspect or her eyes,
For she can only step across the light
And cut the branch from where the moonray lies.
Though words had always posed as though a friend,
They pick their moments, laughing as they go
To cover her and drag her to the end
Of somewhere that she can’t begin to know.
These moments never were her time to spend
And so she feels as though she were a thief
Creating fractures nobody can mend
That tear a canyon through her self-belief.