Myth Poem by Mary Bailly

She closes her eyes,
feeling the chill of dispare.
The child cries,
anger, frustration and sadness.
Tired of lies,
being left in the dark.

A sweet smile is all they crave,
yet she denies them their only pleasure
as a means for revenge,
sweet revenge for all they have caused;
tears and bruises and scars.

The moon shines bright
in her tired eyes.
Tired, so very very tired
of all the hate,
of all lies,
of all the fear,
of her very fate.

A means of escape seems surreal,
a myth to her if ever there were.
Alone as she is,
their taunts are all but lost to the wind,
as she remains and hears them scramble as their god has risen