The Poet Virginia Woolf And Her Suicide Poem by James McLain

In Virginia's mind, a tempest swirled,
A brilliant mind, yet shadows curled.
Words flowed like a river deep and wide,
Yet within soul a tumultuous tide.

She danced with joy, a fleeting waltz,
Yet battled demons, unseen assaults.
To the lighthouse of her soul, she'd strive,
But darkness whispered, she couldn't survive.

A room of her own, a refuge sought,
Yet the waves of despair relentlessly fought.
In depths profound, she sought reprieve,
A final rest, a chance to leave.

In the pages she wrote, her essence lives,
A testament to the pain she gives.
A fragile soul, now at peace,
Virginia's tale, a tragic masterpiece.