The Crying Girl

I can hear someone crying. In the moonlight someone grieves.
Soft and quiet like the wind. Like the rustling of the leaves.
I walk through the forest, seeking to comfort that poor soul.
Secret tears reclaiming what a broken heart stole.

I can hear someone crying, yet there is peace among the stars.
Surely such pure beauty can reach down and touch her scars.
It sounds like something broken. Whispers carried by the breeze.
Clouds of tainted silver, restless as the troubled seas.

It is fragile, her soft crying. No one else will see or know,
How her diamond tears are breaking on the glistening floor of snow.
I reach the water’s edge and I see the girl at last.
Lit by shifting moonbeams. Sitting by a pool of glass.

I wipe away a tear, hoping she’ll know that it’s alright.
That peace is overcoming fear in the beauty of the night.
My reflecting looks at me. Gives a sad and wistful smile.
Content to know the crying girl has come to sit awhile.

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