TIS THE SEASON

White gossamer wings
Reflecting the north-flowing waters
Rapidly flying south

Grey clouds lowly hover
Looking as if to blanket the trees
Reflecting the heaviness
She feels in her heart

The sadness
That floods
Her soul

While others plan their festivities
To mark a time of giving thanks
All she can do is wander lost
Under a sunless sky

Watch the waves
Lap cold and lazily
Upon this desolate beach

Longing for that
Which is out of her grasp
Lingering taste
Of what she cannot have

Misery loves company
But she finds this untrue
As she sits alone
Along the rocky shore
Realizing there is no light
Left to guide her

Thinking perhaps there never was
Is possible was only a fleeting dream
And tragic darkness is her reality

How long she can withstand
Remains to be seen
Though she feels her self
Winding slowly down

And she’s neither the will
Nor the strength
To pull herself
From the depthless well

For even if she found a rope
And the fight within to climb
She would find no one waiting
Or holding the other end

Not of flesh nor of blood
But in spirit perhaps
That blows from her sight
With the first gentle wind

And what good is a rope
Tied to a tree
If not to end
Ones misery

© 2011 Jill Terry

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About jill

Riding the current of life's changing tides, while capturing my journey in images and words... View all posts by jill

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