darkness spills across her face like a stab wound
the gore of her sorrow echoed in an empty gaze
naked, cold, and numb to it, she stares,
at what she does not know
markings formerly symbolic, now faded and lost,
her lips full with the pain of a once beautiful countenance
a gleam of light faintly shines within her eyes
the spark of a desire to be pulled from the black
perhaps the right word or the right touch
would resurrect her from this death
but the cold is comfortable,
the grave offers quiet solitude,
a mock peace presented by the wasteland
no enemies to fight, no heroes either
the tragedy of her loss makes me mourn
longing to look upon the depths
of the blackness of her heart
as she sits in dust and ashes
evermore
