by Molly Smith

Created on: June 25, 2009   Last Updated: June 27, 2009

She Is Called To Her

By strong intuition I am called
Into the woods at night
To find her
Laying on the forest floor
The soft moonlight is exposing her
Like a spotlight through the branches
While wind sweeps rolling leaves across her
She lies limp
With eyes closed
Her fair-skinned face made even more pale,
Yet she is still so beautiful
Her lips are painted red from her blood

I carefully brush the dirt from her face
And brush aside the twigs from her messy hair
I lean over to gently kiss her lips
Her once-fanciest black dress is left mangled
The one that holds many of our memories
I kiss her belly through a tear in the velvet
There is no word, only the unique silence of the forest
And all the branches being moved by the wind
I reach out my hand to search through the leaves to find her hand
And put my fingers in between hers
And hold that for a minute...

Her fingers start to come to life again
Her eyes slowly open and begin to tear
Her lips move
She says quietly, "I told them. I stood up for you."
I quickly hugged her, laying next to her.
The "town terrorists" had secretly followed her here
Sinister in causing hate crimes,
And reveling in revenge rooted from their own judgments
While she innocently came here looking for comfort in me.

I look over my shoulder to the left
A few feet away
A messed up circle of white candles lay fallen over
Surrounding her leftover piece of me-
Is my own gravestone she had stolen
Created one year ago
Placed where her incantations were said
And her lonely agony was spilled
To bring me back to her

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