Speak through me, Muse, and sing me the tale
Of that girl unskilled in the ways of the world--
The intrepid wanderer,
Seeking truth for years on end,
Oblivious to the dynamics around her
As others talk with their eyes and dance with their words.
Many the nights she's lain awake,
Living the hurts of her friends, powerless to help.
Trying to save the world
When she can't even save herself.
She wrote dark storms of words
And ascertained the deceptive nature of journals.
She lied to others and she lied to herself.
She learned that sharp words leave scars,
Struggling each day to open her eyes
And walk toward the light;
Yet despite her best intentions, sometimes she strayed:
But hands were there to guide her back to the path,
And hearts were there to share her pain.
Growing and changing and coming to see
That she didn't have to understand humanity to be human--
She doesn't have to earn love to be loved,
And angels can hide in the oddest of places.
Of these trials and tribulations, Muse, tell us in our time:
Give her song wings once more.