PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She looked like a ghost of herself 
When she first came stumbling into my sight. 
I asked her if I could help her, perhaps I 
Could make what was wrong right. 
But no, she wanted to be invisible, a 
Shadow that could come and go at will. 
For this would allow her to be weak, 
To swallow her own dose of bitter pills. 
Her eyes were emblems of defeat, 
Shallow pools of reflected disguises 
Which she wore in humble disgrace. 
I offered to wipe her crying eyes, 
But she insisted they remain teared. 
Stepping carefully on the walk of doom, 
She surprised me with her sense of failure. 
I offered to keep her safe in my room, 
But she had other visions to follow. 
Dear Lady, whatever happened to you 
That has made you so weak with despair? 
I watched her as she humiliated herself 
With sombre tones of troubled glare. 
I cried with her, it seemed all I could do, 
As she worked her passage to her dying. 
Each day had become a pill to take, 
Another method of improving her lying. 
Sad that we could not break her bonds, 
Which she so casually adopted as her sign. 
I could not help her, though I prayed 
That she might see the sadness resigned.