A poem by Isabelle Sorrells
Soft and beautiful hands
Attached to arms
Clothed in fine linens and wool
Reach out from the dark.
They seem like the kind to promise happiness and pleasure.
And even though she was once in warm light
She was coaxed by the dark
And what it wanted her to see.
When she took hold of that hand
She was pulled into the black.
When looking into the light
The Dark filmed it over with gray,
And once true loving hands
Were forever blurred.