She lives safely within a wall
Of books,
Many colors,
Styles,
And genres.
She is protected,
Secure,
Invulnerable,
She has created her own prison.
A cold,
Gray,
Stone cell.
Very little light reaches through the single, iron barred window;
It cannot touch her crystal-clear,
And frozen heart.
She built the wall of books to protect her heart,
She ran through spring –green meadows,
Her heart was worn on her sleeve.
She freely gave of it,
And it was freely taken.
Her heart was warm, red, and beat soft and fast, like a small bird.
Too many people took advantage of her offering,
They held it tenderly in their shining hands for a time,
But they soon abandoned it for other people, and other things.
She picked it up, out of the grainy mud too many times.
She pieced it back together almost carelessly, faster each shattering time.
Her heart became jagged,
The edges,
Sharp and unforgiving.
She left the meadows,
And built the dungeon wall.
The laughter of others reached her no more.
She no longer beheld the warm and living colors of spring,
Nor the fiery shadows of fall.
She could no longer experience the white and gray of winter,
And she shunned the muted neutral colors of summer.
She was lost to the whole of the world.>
Until one smiling laughter of a day,
A bar of sunlight trickled down the wall.
It tentatively managed to reach where she sat,
Her back against the wall.
The ray touched an outstretched finger to her heart.
Warmth blossomed,
Her heart smoothed,
It became full of color and full of beauty once more.
Her heart began to beat again,
No longer was it encased within relentless ice.
She took a jolted breath,
And love bloomed upon her mechanical mind.
As she became aware of all that surrounded her outside of the wall,
Laughter reached her softly curved ears,
And she yearned once again.
She sensed a wildflower-like perfume on the never before perceived breeze that wafted from her small window.
She arose,
Like a butterfly emerging from a cold, leaden chrysalis,
And walked the meadow once more.
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