PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Now, all though she was no victim of a man's perveted molestation, she was the bastard child of strenuous grief and neglect that spanned the tumultuous years of her life. Though her bravery in the face of peril proved to save her life a multitude of times, the young woman's attitude, which eventually unfolded behind the closed doors of her home, created a dreadful, reclusive life which lead to her untimely demise. Prior to the latter, the woman flourished in arts and made quite a bountiful living off the profits of her tremendously depressing portrayals of bleak summer days and the tears they unleashed. She accumulated a hefty collection of wealth, but her house was barren, thus none of the fortune ever accumulated into a bountiful inheritance; actually, a large majority of her earnings were spent on gigantic canvases and old, Italian sculptures which half adorned her pathetically empty aboad. Upon leaving the house for temporary excursions, such as the immediate need of groceries or tools for her craft, she dressed in tawdry, gray clothes which  wrapped her less than youthful, despite her age, appearance in a sheet-like manner. Forever incognito, she would purchase any items under the use of magnificent aliases. Perhaps close surveillance would allow one might think this woman's mind wasted away in her childhood leaving her with nothing but instinct and fear; of course, a conculsion such as this would be etirely wrong - she was perfectly sane. Rage never crossed her, but the never lit her face. Solitude remained the only friend she ever knew, but it too left her in silence. A lugubrious funeral, as goes without saying, was never held.