PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The years, to her,
Were flying much too fast.
For all she had left,
Were of memories, past.

Her grip on everything,
She'd so tightly held,
Was beginning to loosen-
As life and death meld.

The pain she's lived with,
Has more than taken it's toll.
It's left her so weakened,
And so less than whole.

The relentless taunting,
Of what's never to be-
Mocks her daily,
To depressing degree.

An escape for her,
'Twould mean her demise.
But she's not yet finished,
Nor said her 'goodbyes'.

So she clings to a hope,
Of a fairytale mind,
That somehow, someday,
That peace, she'd find.

She closes her eyes,
And prays for strength-
For an inch of rope, to add,
To that ever-shortening length.

Weakened, she cries out,
For the hope, that she's lost.
To retrace a few steps,
Of all bridges, she's crossed.

But there's no turning back,
On roads, so long-closed.
So she stands there, stoic,
Her soul blatantly exposed.

For she knows its a fate,
That she can only accept-
Her reality, so cold...
...and again, she wept.