She says she's been walking a little bit too long
beneath this burning December sun.
A thousand nights, and only twenty days
alone with but her shadow and false hope.
She's been chasing the wind and the dandilion fronds,
hoping to be blessed to never catch them.
And every day her hope burns lower,
caged in this place of freedom.
Every photo burns within her heart,
charcoal black, just like her consistant night.
She screams to dark nothings upon the sky,
December sun burning like the moon.
