DoNotPutMeInABox

My dear Circe was quite lovely; The most beautiful of the all girls. By the river in the morning, Weaving gold strands through her silky curls. Her eyes were like a forest: Green and blooming, birds in flight. Her dress was the color of shadows, Like deer running through the night. Her skin was as fair as her looks. The sun was in her choc'late hair. All the boys came to hear her sing; Her voice magic in the air. She'd sing and weave by the river A tapestry of love and hope. She'd weave their hearts upon her loom Then leave them all for broke.

She is an artist Whose career lies in the dark, Where the light of day can not expose The canvas on which she makes art. She paints only in one color And she tells me it's her emotions That give the swirling droplets life, Like pain, sadness and dreaded notions. And when she cries And life becomes a burden, The inspiration comes and tells her, "You must paint through all the hurting." And as she pours her life Into the sacred canvas she covets, It takes her away from the external pain. I guess she must really love it. No matter how much I tell her "I love you the way you are", She shakes her head and leaves To paint another scar.

When the wind blows from the east She comes in the night Lilith, fallen angel a little boy's fright Protect your young children While they're safe in day if you're not wary She'll take him away.