The Rescue

I just want to rescue her. Without her, the rest seems unattainable. The will to be. To continue. What good can it be, to move forward, when you are stuck?

That little girl. Trained to be sure of the unsure. To just rescue her.

For the only reason to stay,

I hope,

is she does not know the way.

To escape a childhood home. Will then there be a will?

Well you'd have to see past the past.

If not, time runs deathly ill.

For her childhood home,

the faucets cry vigorously,

"Help, Help!"

Windows, doors sealed like a needle to sew.

She can see that elder tree taunting from out front.

As the wind ignites welcoming branches,

"Come here. Come here."

Yet, her arms can't be motioned with wind,

but demanded by anything other than love.

Apart of the very concrete between that brick.

Brick of greed & pride,

lay left the little girl's arms.

I just want to rescue her.

She is always behind,

left in that time.