Bleeding Acts

A moment, a thought, a breath
none of it did ever live, none of it did take a step
The entourage designed her robe,
laid down the sequel, pulled the strings,
she moved along with dainty steps
she bled inside, for the act was unknown
It held no meaning, It wailed for something,
It had intentions, good she was told.
All she knew, it gave her nothing.

She danced along, she won accolades,
They cheered for her, the entourage did!
She made them proud.
You could hear them say, "Alas! her obedience has brought her joy!"
Her language was different, for all the joy was never joy,"
"all the joy" where drops of blood she bled to the act.

Silent tears wet her pillow,
the bag of cotton was understanding,
they shared a language known to two.

Then one day she bled the last drop, the last act.
"The pinnacle of glory!", decided the entourage
The darkness creeped in , and embraced the palace,
The pillow, the tears, her sorry self,
Listen did not death to the entourage
it embraced her in violation of all the rules,
it embraced her just like the entourage.

A silent prayer I made for the princess,
not for her life, for it never was hers,
always on lease, always at a loss.
A silent prayer for a free soul,
a being-ness ALL to her self.

Swarmed around the entourage,
Praise did they her "joyful" life,
Orchids and Lillies to a happy death.
"What a happy life!", I heard them say.