Forsaken

Forsaken

High and frail like notes picked
from an old
overstrung mandolin
She moans
fragile and crushed
Discarded and disregarded
much like
an old reptile skin ..
So now, she tends to dwell
on history ..
Of what once was, or might
have been ..
Some folk call such things
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 would that
mean an end to everything
She asks ..
She begs, hopes and prays
it does before
the dawning of the morrow ..