She

She was a star at dawn, a flower's first bloom in spring, a newborn puppy.

She knew only of what it was to be happy, generous, lovely.

Her heart was kind and secure, something most people couldn't be.

But the world got her, and now she isn't what she used to be.

Her eyes fall soaked over old memories.

And now she doesn't sing anymore, it seems she lost her melody.

Her heart, now fragile, is still dear and heavenly;

but that is something she can't, no, refuses to see.

Life to her is a cruel mystery,

one that keeps playing the same worn out tune relentlessly.

So instead of living she spends most days dreaming

for a better time, once here but past,

where she had a meaning.