A Dance Of Hope, Washed Up By The Water

• Skye Cusack, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2010

Her skin is pale, shining deeply into her freckles from the withering moonlight. Her hair is gold and it blows across her broken lashes, highlighting her heart in her eyes.
She reminds me once again that she is okay, but the scars on my heart tell me she isn’t. I am wary, gliding along, leaving the self I have known behind. I study her, capturing her bleeding smile for what I know will be her last.
She trips, and my everlasting world stops. I turn to help her, but time has frozen and I am one with the clock. I watch in painstakingly distorted anticipation and her skin slowly seeps into the unknown, leaving behind a figure that is distorted and exposed. How will she cope? I can hear her thoughts in my heart. How will she cope...