The scream echoes in the night
And the broken moon listens.
Her wings are tired
From her useless flying, fleeing.
The pain of her failure dries her eyes
And gives strength to her voice.
Her breath clouds around her face
And then vanish into the frosty air.
The ruins call her,
They are the symbols of her life.
For she is no phoenix
But a simple bird
Who seeks her refuge in desolation.
There can not be any resurrection.
This time is for her, for her suffering
For the morning will come;
And she must pretend that her wings
Are not broken, that her soul is not touched
To join her flock again.
The comforting cold replaced by blistering light,
To which she must wear her mask
Of indifference,of non-pain.
But each night, in the lonliness of the dark
She will come back, to scream
To the broken moon who is the only listener
Of her agony and pain,
To echo in the ruins again.