Forsaken
High and frail
Like notes
Picked
From an old
Overstrung
Mandolin
She moans
Fragile
And crushed
Discarded
And
Disregarded
Like old reptile skins
So now she
Tends to dwell on
History
Of what once was
Or might have been
Some folk
Call them memories
Now loosely bound
To earth
By so many
Disenchanted fantasies
She can but dream
Most days though
She simply envies
The inevitability of
Death
The enormity of it
And yes
The absolute
Certainty of it
But will it mean
An end to everything
She asks ...
She begs and hopes
And prays it does