me stands angry arms.
crossed upon eachother, they do not smile.
through this, is the beauty of life.
stems branch through this aggression,
she wants to apart this cold substance,
her roots delve deep within.
is there escape?
she is quenched by her own water,
one by one they roll.
she is not ashamed yet, it is not enough.
her lower self does not catch the drink
her body ravishly sheds;
it is dead
no longer can it endure
I watch this string, slowly it creeps.
she will soon no longer dance.
children stand strong by her side,
they too are being choked.
I will not be there when they depart,
but the memory of aching innocence
WILL always remain.
I will break the arms.