Her heart is a forest.
Hiding beneath a pained chest.
Beautiful and foreboding in nature,
For it spills and gives birth to dark creatures.
Shrill melancholic voices rise
Above the night; a lonely choir,
Yet no one knows when it might suffice,
For a flint to catch fire.
Her heart is a wild forest,
Beneath a chest that yearns to cry;
Yet only there shall I seek my rest
For she sings lullabies with the nightsky.