An innocent eye captured all that she endured at a small age.
The dark secrets lie hidden behind her childlike face.
A peek would leave you restless, as it leaves her each night.
We imagine sleep for rest and dreams, not for nightmares or fright.
Her eyes reflect the pain from torture one could never understand.
Love is what she longed for, not an unjustly hand.
A cry for help was too quiet for the common ear.
The silent weep, if heard, deeply expresses her fear.
No one knows the twinge in her gut quite like he-
A touch of a finger is what covers her initiative to speak.
Inside she reasons with the truth and lives in doubt.
"Why lord, why?" she screams, but not aloud.
"Does everyone possess the gift you bestowed I?"
"Is that the reason everyone does not hear me cry?"
Her silent scream engages her life, body, and soul.
Forever trapped in the "call for help", the world will never know.
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