Gone Poem by Sylvia Thomas

She was swirling, drowning,
Lost in the light,
She was flying, soaring,
Sinking in the wind

Trapped in the whilpool of colours,
She sees only black light,
Surrounded by that mass of humanity,
She hears only her own voice

Alone,
Was that all she was?
Dead,
Was that what she wanted to become?

To be alive is to be dead,
To be dead is to be alive,
She wanted to be alive.

And as the North Wind caressed her cheek,





She was Gone