Cece

I do the writing thing

[cecewritesstuffsometimes]

My tainted visions

 

I wander the streets, bared to my eye and unclothed

for such unrest laid grave under deep,

wracked in the catacombs of the mind

that thrive most deep behind the eyes.

For such civil unrest,

and unforeseen dismay

may never escape thee of the ties

and restraints of the minds.

For naked sights and tainted visions

of scarlet women and grieved divisions,

shall never escape those streets unveiled

of the truths and tales assailed.

[cecewritesstuffsometimes]

She

I believe it to be,

the tragedy of thee. Woman

all in the freest constraints,

masked under society.

For whom is she? Immortal, to be.

For her that grants life,

she finds her stolen.

Her rights to be a danger,

her right to ease taken.

By those that grant it,

given such power by she.

For walking weep,

for the shadow who may trail,

for could be her son, her father, her brother.

Yet ease knows not she,

for fear of those who share not,

maternity or comfort.

For fear of brute,

for fear Tragedy.