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Her eyes closed upon pressed hands,
The right and left in stalemate to her heart.
Her vexing pulse drowns out the crowd,
As the everlasting beats scream like seconds on the clock.
A thousand eyes distain upon her quivering lips,
Each waiting with an impatient glare.
She starts to speak.
Her words stumble and gape with an open stutter.
The heat is rising, yet the audience's eyes grow cold,
A deriding shaft of ridicule they drag against her words.
Tears flow as repugnant scorns thunder through the knife. |
A Writer's Ballad
Hillary Garrett
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She starts to fall.
Suddenly, a redeeming light is shown through seemingly unharmed eyes.
She falls, but lands softly on her feet.
Hands placed gently on the podium,
She parts her lips, allowing the entity of her soul to flow from her tongue in the form of words.
The stunned audience repeals their derisions,
Mouths left gaping as if the heavens itself had opened up and let down upon their ears.
Point proven, she continues to lift them up and help them to take flight.
They soar under the wings of her untouchable phrases,
'Til each surrounding face is sodden with tears of beauty.
She leaves the stage.
Yearning eyes tag along her quiet graces.
But she simply bows her head once more and persists to walk further,
Knowing that she has helped the unfortunate fly.
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