The Last Resort Poem by Elizabeth Sheaffer

Tears well up, threatening to o'erspill these blackened lashes.
Blackened; That's what society calls fashion.
Little girls playing in mother's make-up.
Wind, whispering through bright, green-leaved trees.
Running around barefoot, the wind in your face.
Falling back, your hair flowing behind you on freshly cut grass.
Looking up at the clouds; sunshine streaming on a beaming face.
Bliss, eternal and sweetly innocent.
Reminiscing years later...
You'll never have that innocence and youth again.
What's lost is lost forever.
You've moved on from happy child to stressed adult.
No more fresh-baked cookies; 'Who wants to lick the bowl? '
No more trips to the park, nothing to do but slide, swing, play, so carefree...
Work, worry, the list grows longer and the bottle emptier by the second.
No time to relax and unwind; it all mounts up-a formidable force indeed..
Tears well up, threatening to o'erspill these blackened lashes.
Blackened; you gave in to society's dream of fashion.
Seeking comfort wherever comfort can be found.
When all else fails; the last resort.
Tears well up, o'erspilling blackened lashes.
Creeping down your powdered cheek; slipping down your neck.
No one was there; no one cares.
Life is meaningless.
You have no purpose; you'll be replaced as soon as you're gone.
Crimson stains the sink basin; dripping down the side.
No one was there; no one cares.
Tears well up, o'erspilling blackened lashes.
Blackened; never again will you give in to fashion.
Crimson, sliding down a background of porcelaine.
Seeking comfort wherever comfort can be found...
When all else fails; the last resort.

(October 2006)