Deepshikha > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

She was driven from the depths to see the world above.

I waltz in a sea of black and of white, an eternal waltz in supine moonlight.

Pretty little bells, like a metaphor in a simile.

Lost in desire, she asked the divine...she moved along, upon the feet of swine.

Of Mother Earth, or of a fair maiden. Skin of porcelain, eyes of summer skies...

There's too much of warmth, and not enough soul...

The uprising. The final uprising. The way it was meant to be. The girl knows nothing else. And she is renamed. A rebirth of sorts. Shall we begin?