The Lonely Siren

Each scream of her was a cry, that they romanticized, The virtues in her possession were A cliché for the sprites, A Silent struggle, buried inside. A heart made of glass, shattered down into pieces, With no one to heal, With no one to feel...... The life ahead is a spot unknown, A Tuneless melody, lingering as a lovelorn...... Too delicate for the reality, Too distractive for the dreams. Spinning in the void, dancing with the shadows, With melancholy all around, in an uncharted meadow......