in her own way

she, is misunderstood
she brings forth such, sorrow
rather like, mist in moonlight
where the path is hidden
and the trees with their dark foliage
hide their beauty in shadows

she is, beneath it all
beneath her shadow
deep beneath the roots of her dark mystery
she is, in her own way
a spectre of love

she loves … she wishes she could love
as tenderly as those mists
as magical as that moon
as soft as those beautiful leaves
but her gothic soul, crumbles
at the very thought of,

life.