Photo Credit: Etienne Swanepoel

Under her sheet—she weeps:

The tears flow upon her cheeks,

And the pillow soaks from lies,

Shame and hurts;

Her sacred heart—broken,

Love notes are no longer spoken,

Of purity: As she whispers to the self,

“He loves me, he loves me not,”

She wants to scream out loud,

Yet, *grief, got her trap:

As time goes by, she thought,

Love knew her not!

Empress Journee