Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder they say!
Until the scars were found imprinted on her soul,
Her tone gone dark, bitter as wormwood,
Count now her woes, tell whether there be a solace,
The fragile notes played incessantly,
Like forbidden fire, blunting the fine edges,
She heard a tale and lived a broken life,
Albeit free from the prejudice of written rules,
Her blade was honed on the shepherd's wheel,
As she knelt in supplication of a wonder yet unseen,
Tying the cords of a dying breath,
Was all she lived for.
© sailabby

Photocredit: Unsplash

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© sailabby