Stones

Shaking and shivering, a child sits there
In her cold, dark room with walls made of air.

Not yet a woman but not longer a girl.
Around that first stone her fingers do curl.

She finds more stones. Then Another. One more.
They circle around her with no room for a door.

Bitterness her mortar; Fear her spade;
Year after year, one more layer is laid.

The stone walls grew high and thick - that's no doubt-
With no way to get in and no way to get out.

She allowed herself to build a window up high.
But to break these walls, no one ever would try.

Now the child's a woman both in body and mind,
And she wonders if she is the last of her kind.

Alone in her room, she sits - and she cries
As something inside her finally dies.

No longer able to laugh, to love, or to smile.
She thinks that they are no longer worthwhile.

The dark night comes, and the air grows cold.
And the young woman suddenly feels very old.

Against her stone wall, she leaned and sighed
While secretly wishing somebody had tried.

"Why me?" she cried. "Why happen at all?"
Once more, the memories caused the cursed tears to fall.

With great force, the memories flooded her mind
And the way out she searched for but could not find.

When all was over and her thoughts grew still,
She picked herself up and strengthened her will.

"No one must ever get in," she resolved to herself
And walked to where her spade sat on its shelf.

"Come my dear friend. More work we must do.
We must make sure no one ever gets through."

She chose her ingredients: Anger and Scorn
And worked through the night - deep into the morn.

The mortar was stirred; her spade flew fast
As she built her buttresses, made forever to last.

Hair out place; clothes disarrayed;
Face streaked with dirt; she laid down her spade.

She looked at fortress and swelled with pride.
From the outside world, she could finally hide.

She washed off the dirt and redid her hair;
Then went to the closet to choose what to wear.

Independence her cloak and Courage her mask;
To live double-faced would be her new task.

Sarcasm her sword; Hatred her shield,
She taught herself well these weapons to wield.

Her facade took root at more years passed by,
And that fated day came when somebody would try.

Though the attacker meant well, he went about it all wrong.
He could not cut down a stubborn will so strong.

Many more came convinced she would break,
But her strong resolve none could seem to shake.

The attacks slowed down, then finally, no more.
And the woman sat down, tired and sore.

"I must get some rest,: she said to herself
As she placed her weapons with the spade on the shelf.

Her Independence and Courage were hung up with care
While she chose much more fitting bedclothes to wear.

Vulnerable and innocent were seams of gown
Which caused her brow to furrow and her smile to frown.

"Naught else have I to wear to my bed."
Were the last words she said as she pillowed her head.

Without her mask, her sword, or her shield;
Vulnerability was her only weapon to wield.

She slept very deeply without a worry or care,
But woke with a start when a strange noise filled the air.

Someone singing a song - a pleasing melody.
She hesitated and then went to the window to see.

Who was this person who disrupted her sleep?
What was he doing around her keep?

She froze when he noticed her standing there.
For a moment, all they did was stare.

A traveler - a peasant - no knight in arms.
No need for fear; no cause for alarm.

He carried a shovel and a bag on his back.
Without a word, he set down his pack.

"Sir," she called, puzzled. "Why are you here?"
His voice was steady, and his answer was clear.

"To make you laugh, to love, and to smile.
And to show you that living really is worthwhile."

"You can't do it," she cried. "My walls are too strong."
That, madam," he answered, "is where you are wrong."

A spark lit her eyes, and she left in a fury.
She pulled down her weapons and redressed in a hurry.

Back to the window, she reappeared;
But realized he'd done just what she feared.

A tunnel of Friendship he dug under wall.
Stone by stone, he planned to make it crumble and fall.

Her sword of Sarcasm seemed to do him no harm.
In fact, he welcomed it with open arms.

"Please let me in," was his soft cry.
"Let's heal the hurt. You must at least let me try."

His voice was so gentle as he urgently spoke
That a small dam inside her finally broke.

He reached out a hand and gently lifted her mask.
"To forgive and forget shall be your new task."

A tear slipped down her cheek. Oh, how she wanted to run.
But she stood her ground - you see- the healing had begun.