Gone
She
screams as
fear plays on
callous hands, she
wishes the pain would
die. She fades to black, her
anonymous solitude.
They look....she is without a trace
Those behind, are mere figments of her
elusive fascination . . . he is gone
Memories and dreams wrinkled in a heap,
cascade on her bed like wrinkled sheets
Far isn't far ...as I pray for her
plagued bones, they fill with disdain
of wanting him near, pain
seeps...silent peril
staggers in her
head...constant
she is...
gone.
By Debra Walker
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