Her moon face looms at me.
Hatred broils and it's the heat of the sun.
If I looked at her,
her flaxen hair would burst into flame,
her creaking facade would melt.
In her shadowness she brings me gifts.
A turtle made of onyx.
A worn book.
I snatch them from her hands,
leave the scorch of molten anger on the paltry tokens.
Her light has always been a reflection of me.
But now she is waning as I grow.
The sister-bond severed,
her whole world is wilting.
Merrily I shine and shine,
with a viscious spark.
Copyright 2003 dark_sister
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Comments on The Fading Sister