The Fight Has Left Her Soul

When all the fight has left her soul, Who will ever make her whole? Who would gather her pieces all scattered? Who would mend her mind now shattered? In the death of night, so late and still, She cries her tears, and tries to soothe her will. But as the ache slow ebbs away, She is left alone with another day. The fight has forever left, her soul empty and sore. She tried to hold on, but it ripped right out the core. Silently she tries to hold on, she clings for dear life, But her will has been broken, as if cut with a knife. Softly dawn comes, and her day is filled with dread. For it is in times like these she wished she were dead. And just beyond the pale blue moon, She knows her heart will too rest soon. NJS