PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And she descended into herself. 

She had lived and died all in a day;

And now she was exhausted.  

We all see her, we know her to ourselves. 

And as we see her descend into herself,

We know her for what we want. 

Yet she is being wrung dry,

Twisted and maimed until herself leaves her. 

She may not have been warranted, in our own eyes.

But she was in her own.

And what tears the most

Is that our own worlds,

Do not merit that which hers did.

We believe she did not see

What we have been shown

Thus we punish ourselves

For not having played a big enough role

In the life that could have been.

But she soaks in her life secreting. 

And leaves with naught but pain.

For her last of this world will be what she knew.

Rushed upon her, in self-justice. 

We will cry for the hands laid upon her;

And beg a reprieve too late. 

And whilst she took herself,

Others will be confronted

With the fact that life will render them

Partial to the act. 

To think we may be able,

Whilst one did fall,

The worlds of the collateral

Will tumble down inflicted;

The dominoes and life and death.