Inanimate breath, the handless clock; ticking,
Silence.
The shadow of Black Plague,
Nothing.
Compared to what strikes now, consuming just one.
A punctured heart beats hesitantly and confused,
The other, hale and seemingly unscathed.
When will she come to terms with what stirs within?
How did truth and lie consummate to become as one?
She runs, stumbles, falls, reaches for once caring, tender hands,
But the refuge she sought in him abandons her still.
She is bruised,
Scarred.
Yet beautiful as ever?
She is shunned; banished to the abyss by her own spirit,
Broken and reluctant.
A realization that what once was will never be again shatters already broken glass.
Memories harry her chrysalis,
Stripping her of all she once was,
Leaving her stagnant.
Regrets? None.
Tears?
Have ceased.
Rivers run dry after a lifetime of provision and faithfulness.
She presses,
But cannot seem to break from calling this gray monotone home.
She was rightfully and forever yours,
Yours alone.
Was she not?
But now she passes as a simple unfamiliar shadow.
The sun sets over the distant hillside
Her pale silhouette drained lifeless, still looks on in adoration.
What she is blind to; foreshadowing.
For when the light escapes the earth
So will the life escape her.
