There's a Voice

There's a small sack filled with lead in her chest.
Some call it a heart.
There's a small stream flowing from her eyes.
Some call them tears.
There's a jungle, wild and tangled.
Some call it a head.

There's a sun which gleams and fades as the days pass by, announcing the end of a moment and the beginning of another.
Some never notice.

There's a search for the cure of the never-ending disease.
Some call it loneliness.

There's a curious stone buried beneath a pile of ash and rubble.
There's a twinkle in her eye as she stares into the gem, light gently glistening off the surface. Rough at the edges, yet filled with a beauty not yet understood.
Only one names it her hidden treasure.

There's a blossom in between the rocks.
Some would call it hope.

There's a creature standing across the pond.
Some might find this odd.
He cups his odd creature hands around his odd creature mouth, and in an odd creature way he captures her gaze, and possibly her heart.
Some can look away.
One cannot.

There's a path that splits in two, each half winding and twisting it's own way around her fragile little soul.
Some might say each are alike.

There's a little gray mouse, squirming and writhing in the clutches of two fierce boas.
Some may walk on by.
Some may let her die.

There's a small sack filled with lead with a small stream cascading gently over within a jungle, wild and tangled.
Some might call this life.