Her voice whimpered,
crossing oceans of mind,
sailing on distant seas;
we listened intently.

Her soul was calling,
reeling through aeons,
tracking dark skies;
we waited in silence.

Her self was keening,
grieving through years,
collating all memory;
we watched in sorrow.

Her spirit was aching,
suffering through time,
crucified on each cross;
we hurt in sympathy.

Her life was soaking,
sucked out of flesh,
desiccated  and frail;
we wept by her side.

Her days diminished,
swallowed up slow,
the end inevitable;
we embraced madness.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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