As she cries,
Her tears become ice,
Numbing her face.
She feels as if she can't breathe.
Her pain,
She wishes she could bury,
With the roses she is turning into ash.
While she begins to turn into stone...
In her fear,
She shakes.
Cries out in despair.
What did I do wrong? she screams into the empty air,
What did I do wrong...?
Watching helplessly as a rose petal is so wrathfully torn from her fingers,
By a dry wind.
It is going to rain...
She sighs into the emptiness about her,
Only brittle and dead roses are her solemn, silent company.
I feel as they feel.
Cold, numb fingers run up and down her arms,
She wish she could feel warmth again,
In her frail fingers,
In her dying body...
The feeling in her feet is gone,
She sees that they are turned to the feet of a statue,
Grey crawling up her skin,
She shrieks in the agony clawing at her from within her fragile mind,
But she finds no answer.
Only rain and tears,
A destiny she can not hide from
Tears turning into gray,
As more agony tears at her.
Why must it be this way?
No answer,
Only thunder in the ever-so-far away skies.
Unable to move,
As the greyness creeps up even farther over her body,
Constricting her movement,
Weighing down on her lungs,
Can't cry out any more.
Needing to save all the breath she can,
Even though I am dying...
She whispers,
Pain cracking her voice.
Wind tosses her hair,
Damp, icy air sweeps over her,
Dead, brittle leaves being tossed up into the storm.
Rain falls.
She cries.
Tears and prayers cannot help me...
But the thunder.

Lithe stone figure,
Caught in the rain.
Face of agony.
Girl turned to stone.