To soon

she sits 
thinking where 

now she walks around 
with guns in her hands pointing

her hair is a mess of grey....a funeral parlor awaiting to the groom 

so much time missed 

a candle lost 
a perfume unscented 
a memory continues

to the need so passed on to Old

as the music played a smile of
questions
asking  to the Why?

her humbleness becomes tired to a net of 
what if ....what ifs

then she thinks into a drug call past ...
past ..i am
to only Soon in waiting

where is my pen
my quill is dead into  another