In her eyes, I saw innocence

walking on a flimsy tightrope,

flailing its hands in fear because it knew

it was not long before it descended to its demise,

shattering to a million pieces.

It whispered for me to save it,

begging on its knees,

and then hanging by one frail hand,

cried before its piercing death.

But who was I to stop the inevitable?

And so,

the colors that used to burst like fireworks

in her eyes and swim over to grasp my hands

faded away into dust and charcoal.

Her tears were now gray,

falling from her dull eyes:

they were the ashes of innocence.