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.
Vividly narrated and wistfully sad, this piece stays with the reader as a mark of the effects of 21century living on a troubled spirit..... very moving Chris. - -10 -with greetings from Fay in Cornwall U.K.
A very sad piece but beautifully related Chris...you have managed to capture all her troubled emotions in a maningful and touching way 10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You made me feel in this poem.