Under the blue lunar shine,
She stands as unwavering and still as the oldest statue.
A ebony coat flutters in the nightly wind,
Torn and worn,
Smelling of old blood and whiskey.
Cobalt eyes, gleaming with the power and fury of oceans,
Now darkened with somberness and misery.
Happiness crushed by the merest glimpse,
Of a blackened road slackened with blood and tears.
Long sealed memories arise,
So full of pain and suffering,
But unlocked by a simple glance at a simple road.
Once more, she sees the pale-faced boy,
So sweet and innocent,
And then blood splattered against asphalt and metal.
In the empty silence,
Acquainted with salty tears,
An old door opens, creaking and squealing on its hinges.
An ashen-haired man comes behind her,
Embracing her tightly,
Within an iron grip he refuses to release,
Whispering sweet comforts into the doe's ear.
But unable to comprehend,
Just how deep this pain runs.
Nor, the feelings of rage,
And wrathful intentions running through her mind.