Moonlit rain, gently falling,
Sliding down the windowpane
Against which, a young child
Press her face so pale
As she tries not to listen
To the fighting couple,
The shouting couple;
Her parents

The young child sings quietly
To herself; a lullaby,
In a voice so broken with hateful tears,
That wet her cheeks;
Tears are dangerous,
Tears are not for a young child,
Who should be nothing but,
A perfect
Little
Angel

An angel, like the one in her window,
Made of flawless porcelain,
With wings, spread as if in flight,
With a face so ethereal and a halo so beautiful
An angel, too perfect, too flawless,
An angel, which she now hold
With reverent hands;
If she could not be like the angel,
The angel had to be like her;
Broken

Moonlit rain, gently falling
Sliding down the windowpane
Against which, a young child
Press her face so pale
As she cradle in her arms
The shattered pieces
Of a porcelain angel
And tries not to listen
To the hateful screaming
That will forever
Haunt her dreams

---

Note: Just to let you know, I had...a hard time writing this. Not hard because I couldn't find the words...that was not difficult at all, but hardbecause I dragged upsome painful memories that I've never really dealt with before...
So just read and tell me what youthink.

--Luma