A Soul Unheard

She stood with a heart, open and bare,

But his words were daggers, slicing the air.

Not in shouts, nor in fights loud and wild,

But in silence that crushed, cold and defiled.


Like a pot turned upside down, sealed tight,

No matter her plea, no matter her fight.

Her innocence lay, unheard, unseen,

Drowned in shadows where truth had been.


Her watering eyes became his delight,

A silent victory in the dead of night.

He wove his stories, twisted and spun,

And they believed the damage was done.


What is pain, if not this slow decay?

A body that breathes, but fades away.

For death is kinder, swift and bright,

But to live unloved is endless night.


DayaNair

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