She walks and each blade of grass moves with her. She glides without knowing her own grace. The world is on her shoulders, but failing, they have stooped.
One woman cannot carry it all. She had dreams and some she lived. Others fell short and once or twice, life really broke her.
She loved and was loved. She cried and fought and laughed and even danced, though she wasn't very good at it.
She sang in the suds and pounced in the puddles. Storms drove her down and rainbows lifted her up.
Life was long but was going quickly. Soon her skin would show it, her age would be revealed. Her body could never keep up with her mind. The battles between the two had only grown more intense and devastating.
Too many and too much, mostly her own doing. Once the walls had been built and the grounds fortified, she knew there was no hope, no future escape from her own prison. It would never really get better, but continue a long, winding road of struggle just to be. To be and to breathe and to strive, only to find her efforts always falling short.
Some will call her selfish, wanting to step out of the ring. Others will understand but feel bad and wish impossible wishes.
All she will know is the price she is paying for her freedom. She doesn't think of what debt others will incur. All she can see is the finish line, a mirage, so close she can almost feel it. She senses nothing but the finality of her decision.
She doesn't hear the birds or feel the slow breeze. She does notice the fragrance though; it is surrounding her and filling her nostrils, reassuring her, beckoning. Sage in the autumn, purple spikes flowering toward the sky. Would that it were her final memory but no. There is still the tab to settle.
Only one way, only one road.
Falling into the palest green, the cacophony of buzzing and whirring, the stings, like knives, digging mercilessly into her flesh. They come from everywhere but take her nowhere. Her long time jailer should now open the gate to her freedom.
Too late, she realizes her mistake. The gate was never locked, no key was ever needed. Maybe just a few more falls would have lifted her above the rail. Maybe one last effort would have forced the rusty hinges, opening to a possible hope.
The fragrance still surrounds her but not a breath of it can she take. All is soft and senseless, laying crumpled in the fronds.
Her deliverance accomplished, the enemy, or friend, flies on, seeking nothing more rewarding than to live another day.
One woman cannot carry it all. She had dreams and some she lived. Others fell short and once or twice, life really broke her.
She loved and was loved. She cried and fought and laughed and even danced, though she wasn't very good at it.
She sang in the suds and pounced in the puddles. Storms drove her down and rainbows lifted her up.
Life was long but was going quickly. Soon her skin would show it, her age would be revealed. Her body could never keep up with her mind. The battles between the two had only grown more intense and devastating.
Too many and too much, mostly her own doing. Once the walls had been built and the grounds fortified, she knew there was no hope, no future escape from her own prison. It would never really get better, but continue a long, winding road of struggle just to be. To be and to breathe and to strive, only to find her efforts always falling short.
Some will call her selfish, wanting to step out of the ring. Others will understand but feel bad and wish impossible wishes.
All she will know is the price she is paying for her freedom. She doesn't think of what debt others will incur. All she can see is the finish line, a mirage, so close she can almost feel it. She senses nothing but the finality of her decision.
She doesn't hear the birds or feel the slow breeze. She does notice the fragrance though; it is surrounding her and filling her nostrils, reassuring her, beckoning. Sage in the autumn, purple spikes flowering toward the sky. Would that it were her final memory but no. There is still the tab to settle.
Only one way, only one road.
Falling into the palest green, the cacophony of buzzing and whirring, the stings, like knives, digging mercilessly into her flesh. They come from everywhere but take her nowhere. Her long time jailer should now open the gate to her freedom.
Too late, she realizes her mistake. The gate was never locked, no key was ever needed. Maybe just a few more falls would have lifted her above the rail. Maybe one last effort would have forced the rusty hinges, opening to a possible hope.
The fragrance still surrounds her but not a breath of it can she take. All is soft and senseless, laying crumpled in the fronds.
Her deliverance accomplished, the enemy, or friend, flies on, seeking nothing more rewarding than to live another day.
