She fell into wicked arms,
dragged into the chamber of darkness.
War she declared against her oppressors—
Invading a domain not their own.
Weapons were as violent as storm—
Ruthless for their own selfish reason!
She was but a stick far less weak than a broom—
Her priceless treasure stolen.

While they savored the victory:
Claiming the prize which was not theirs,
violet fire rose within her,
burning a memory she didn’t create.
She stared at stark dark skies—
Seeing through it,
Confronting a mute witness about a page
that shouldn’t have been in her book.

Oh, how a piece of glass broke within seconds!
’twas like years lost at just one grab.
She’d have all her years mourning,
Or a lifetime locking herself up behind bars of shame.
Gone was the gift she longed to keep:
The pride that would have carried her down the red carpet.
One night of cruel passion;
One life growing in besides her own!

© Gheeneil


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