she stood under their brilliance

like a mottled earth stands under the stars.

their laughter came and visited; and then,

it left with the sound of a thousand sorrows.

she stood apart, but she could still see.

she stood apart, but she could still hear.

she stood apart, but she could still feel.

 

she stood under their brilliance

like a moth is forced to flame.

she wore the souls of the burdened

like a coat made of fire.

what she saw was not joy.

what she heard was not laughter.

what she felt was not not delight.

 

her gift was not so much a gift

as it was a curse of perception.

if there was a moment in which she

would have ripped at the fabric and

released herself; it was as though there

were ten thousand.

but she would not. she would not.