• There she sits every day;
    See how much pain
    From blood and tears,
    She is.
    For no matter what she gives
    For him to take
    Thrown upon the floor
    Become as daily things;
    Broken, battered, bruised,
    But life somehow never felt
    Like a waste;
    Yet looking at life,
    More so hers,
    Deserved in the end.
    Thus, continued for some time
    Till another came;
    So perfect, so spirited,
    So in love.
    She finally rises,
    Grasping the winged hand
    Floating above the clouds
    But, then realizing;
    In time and in torment,
    Even on the clouds,
    It continues
    But, striking flesh
    To be spread on walls.
    To cut so deeply
    As to be reborn
    With it still bleeding.
    To have given so much,
    Received so little
    Even while being saved;
    To realize the truth of love
    Is only pain.