Gold is the harp
That plays at her will
The melodious song
Portrays her excellent skill

She plucks at the strings
Two or three at a time
Her fingers, bloodied and bruised
Many a tear does she cry

Her wings are broken
Her halo crushed to dust
The devil in the corner licks his lips
Full of greed and of lust

His eyes set fixed
Upon her struggled beauty
He snickers and smiles
As she suffers profusely

He touches her face
It melts in his palm
She dare not scream, though
For her faith is too strong

A light appears in the void,
And it cast the demon asunder,
Her suffering is lifted
As she falls into a deep slumber

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This Poems Story

My name is Rowan. I grew up in a small town of about three hundred people in South Dakota. I love writing stories and poetry, as well as hearing others! My family all really help me to write simply because they encourage me to keep going and do my absolute best. This poem was inspired by the recent occurrences of deaths around my town. It's a dark subject, but that's what I write best!