Lydia..

A fragmented dream, lost in ghost ridden passages,
You grew up with your piercing blue-grey eyes,
Losing faith in a humanity that could not see you,
Could not know you for you.

You're too young to even notice the light you shine,
Spinning in your vortex of dark skeins,
You hold onto the hope that light will be given to you,
Taken from the heart of those you protect.

But you see my dear, through your land, your life,
You have grown unwanted in a house filled with whelps,
and sorrow is not the answer to feeling nothing,
even though you think it helps.

You should realise conscience never fades,
and shadows are just an absence of strong enough light.
And while you think that if you dream enough it will all be ok,
you know one day you will have to fight.

Like a queen, you ride your precious façade,
and you take part in that demoness parade,
still you take us all on, as if  we were the cause of your pain,
and upon breaking us you will begin your charade.

Demons and dreams, nightmares and angels,
you spun in golden silk from the void,
and from there you clutched a dream to guard,
as you were not guarded, not given the hope of.

And for you, for this precious moment, you ask for life,
you ask for it in the only form you can do it, a fragment,
and so you are but one of three, and that is all you will be,
until you learn to listen, and hear the sound of life, the sound of white.

Until you are truly you, and truly you alone,
One in three, Three in one, you will be till you are under stone.