When the disenchantment settles into her furrowed brow
Like sand quieting after a storm?
I watch the thunder flash and the rain turn to hail
Under the cloudy guise of her iris.
I worry.
Her beauty is strong, her heart beat pounding, and her wrath; infamous�
If only this was how they felt
When they left me in the dust
Curled, crying, reduced to the state of a child.
I am alone.
Not surprised but still hurt
There was a time when I would let it all out.
The first visiting vessel will overflow with my tears
But now I see who I want to be
And She does not share
She does not cry
But, oh, does She hurt
She harbors the emotions like rare gems and bills
A bitter treasure for years of scars
I worship Her.
I am becoming.