Her Name Was Tragedy

Scourged by vanity,
The leather whips fall bloody to the floor
Incarcerated by urbanity,
The wounds are bleeding and the spirit is sore.

She cries in her loneliness,
She cries out of selfishness,
She wants Him, more or less,
She wants to curse or bless.

She looks with empty, clinging eyes to friendship,
And only finds another wasp sting from a whip.
She looks to prayer and contemplation,
But she feels guilt voiding, smothering her orations.

She feels there is nowhere left to turn,
That there is just so much to learn
And just not enough life to learn it in
She’s so sick, slowly sinking into sicker sin

Vanity, her spirit’s song is,
Happiness is empty bliss,
Joy, an unfulfilled kiss—
She wants no more of this.

Sorrow, too, fully drains her,
So screaming, she surrenders
Unknowing to which side her allegiance is pledged;
She vowed herself eternally to light, so she alleged.

Unhealthy soul speckled with red blushing to black
She’s made her choice, she can’t go back
Looking ahead into a vast wasteland
Sacrificing herself to machinery, settling for a lower hand

Her soul wastes away into an abysmal chasm of death
I told her to breathe, but she just gave her last breath.

Her name was Tragedy.
She wasn’t ready
To die.

She was ready
To Live.