Forsaken
Broken
Her aura stolen
Sorrow unspoken,
The wrinkles that now burn
The scars that cut open;
In the distant corridors of time
Others would toil; she gave and took
From afternoon till dawn.
By the window she sits,
In repose, in profile
Rising above the scorn
Accursed passers-by looking in
Wicked souls without compassion.
On the chair she reclines,
The epic swirl of former passion
The glory of love half-forgotten!
Doors now remain shut
Her eyes still, her trust broken
Seemingly in a daze, face etched in pain
Days begin and end.
But in the chair she remains,
Acknowledging in tacit recognition
Fate’s twists and cruel turns,
As the earth splits open
A wilting, withering flower’s salvation.
