Fallen Lady

Sitting in a darkened room
She sees a face
Reflected in the gloom.
The fallen lady feels a trace
Of one she left behind
When Shemloch touched her
With his wings
Loosing her from her time.

But no.
It wasn’t her that knew the face.
Another had run
At Shemloch’s touch.
Only traces of her still remained,
Traces like this face reflected in the gloom.
Not even a name was left,
Or the tone that would
Let you know a person true.
When she looks back only spaces remain
The place where memories should be etched
Is only a board that’s been wiped clean.

Still the face remains,
Reflected in the gloom.
She tries to grasp it, as she has before,
Before it slips away to become a spark
Spiraling away into the empty spaces
Where that other used to be.
She grasps at it, trying to etch each line
On the screen within her mind.
The eyes, the nose, the windswept hair,
The mouth, curved as with a present smile
But shadowed by pain hidden away.
Each line she traces in her mind
Until, when she closes her staring eyes,
The image still remains.

Now she lies upon her bed,
Inviting dreams to come.
As each night she lays,
And prays,
For visions of that other life
When the other still remained.
She calls,
The face an image
linking now and then.

Popularity: 7% [?]

This entry is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.