Her ashen face,
Was forever concealed in her hand.
The prospect of the land beyond the cloud,
Forever being fantasized in her head.
Alienation and estrangement consuming her.
Many thought she was almost as good as dead.
The ignorant blurs of the world,
And what we call life, just rush past by,
Never deciphering the clarity of human purgatory,
Or her nearly garroted cry.
Her bloodshot sunken cerulean eyes,
Perpetually told a tale of despondency and sorrow,
Never carrying that glaze of life,
To live to see tomorrow.
Her gaunt and sunken face,
Are accentuated by years of infinite tears,
Each tell a story of,
Her miserable life and all those disquieting years.
My notice seemed to soothe her pain,
I took it in my power to make my life worth living again.
At last one day,
She finally gripped her hand in my mine
All pale painted ossein and bones,
A ray of hope, for everything to be fine.
She then gave me kiss on my cheek,
Her greying flaxen hair tickling my skin.
And I knew all was now futile,
And she was bidding farewell to the bleak.
She was indeed ,
During the time of crimson, amber and toe seas,
When one goes it doesn’t make a difference to the world,
Everyone except me.
The next day,
I came in to see her,
My heart in my hands,
At the sight I saw,
Her attenuated figure slumped on the pavement wall,
Even the insolvency in her azure eyes departed,
Once and for all!