Torn

The silent stars gaze
On the trembling form
Of a lost little girl
Who no longer feels warm
In the hold of a life
Not turned all around,
Where up is still up
And down is still down.
She holds in her hands
A raggedy page
Spotted with tears
And wrinkled with age.
The drawing, her hopes,
The little girl's world
Have vainly been writ,
All her secrets unfurled.
The worldlet here drawn
By child's worn crayon
Shows the girl holding hands
With a woman and man.
The characters faces
All chuckle and grin
While above the sun's light
Reveals not a sin.
But-lo! what a sight
What a dark jagged tear
Rips from morning star's light
To the little girls hair.
The page rent in twain,
The parents unbound
Stand lonesomely sole
But the girl is not found.
For in the division
Of man and his wife
The child in pieces
Has lost all her life.
The trembling form
With the page in her grasp
Takes a painful and slow
Steadying shuddered gasp
As she lays the two down
She takes out her small set
Of art supplies gotten
Instead of a pet.
She sets to her task
Choking back quaking sob,
But finds when she's done
That her work is macabre.
Three slender taped lines
Run across hallowed dream.
She wishes it whole,
Yet still runs the seam
Across all she e'er knew,
Across all their lies.
The two can't become one,
And tears fill her eyes.
She weeps for her family,
She cries and she cries.
She'll struggle tomorrow,
For this night she dies.