Once upon a time there lived a little girl who dreamed of living in a huge castle far, far away. She was the sweetest of little girls. Always ready to greet with one of the most irresistable of snag-a-tooth smiles. Quiet was she as she played, laughed, and danced without a care until the day the laughing became, to my dismay, less frequented. What happened to the little girl one may ask. Well, as to the happenings of most unfortunate events, the little girl had to grow up and that castle that she had always wanted began to fade farther and farther into the distance and from her memory as if the thought had almost never existed.
I cannot cry for the little girl because of her repetitious misfortunes. I cannot cry for her as she pushes her way through life with the devil’s blade forged deeply in her back. Under the river and through the woods she went and never did she shed a tear as she bore the scorn.
As the little girl trekked on, climbing mountains just to fall knee deep in swampy quicksand, from nowhere her thoughts veered to the visualization of the story of King Arthur’s sword that was once struck deeply in stone. The yea old story brought smiles across her lips in her wake.
Just the thought of that gloried weapon that taunted even the noblest man brought about happy thoughts. It was the sword that could not be removed until its rightful owner took re-possession.
The sword that tested the heart of man but, unfortunate to them, not every man was worthy of its value.
As the little girl went deep into thought about the real differences between the devil’s blade and King Arthur’s sword, the differences became quite clear to her and more than obvious…
The sword was a representation of a more positive, yet, not so perfect Past. It was symbolic of character and strength.
A strength that she had to carry most of her life.
The devil’s blade, on the other hand, that was inbedded in her back, was definitely a more bitter representation of the most negative of Presents’. A past that never seemed to want to disappear.
As to her future’s choice of weaponry was yet to be seen. Maybe her future had not a weapon at all but the glorification of angel wings and the armour of heaven in which God’s arms may cover she and surround her with the light and love that was to be her dowry in need.
Why can I not cry, you ask of me in wonderance for the little girl with no ‘wool’ to keep her warm? Why have I not shed a tear?
Simply, my tears have dried like a rain in the blistering desert. Like a pitcher of water being thrown onto a wildfire to no avail. My skin heats from the thoughts of injustifications that have surrounded this beautiful little girl in her plight for freedom, peace, and love everlasting as she suffers the blade stabbed deeply in her back and carries it across Dante’s Infernouos Abyss.
Why can’t I cry for the little girl as she sighs?
Because that little girl is me inside by design.
No castles, no riches, no tender joys to be recalled.
As I live a turmulous life, the Devil’s blade aiding to my fall.
My intentions were far better than those who scald
But the advocates would rather, you guessed it, see my crawl.
Surrounding, they do, to please their agressive majesty.
Beating me till I bleed because they cannot appease his fantasy.
Why can’t I cry for the little girl with dreams?
Because she should have not a fear as she has trusts in her King.
So even if that castle may seem far way,
The little girl’s dreams were real and she may one day take claim.