The room was lit like an ancient sunset
The speckled dust frozen in the streams of half light
And the walls stood weary from the passing years
Her face like a painting by Michelangelo
A thought left to be finished for another time
She stared out a glassless window across the fields of pale gold
A life that lay dormant under the weary hands of time
Questions chasing themselves in circles
As the reverie of lost years crutch her spirit
Nothing amputates the sting of failing dreams
Noted in the hint of her soulless smile
Her eyes speak like a silent tongue
A truth more obvious than a feeble lie
In times of desperation does one’s character grow stronger?
Or does it fade away in the twilight of divinity?
A wrinkled portrait of Jesus rests in a frame on the wall
Like a beacon smothered in a dense fog
There is peace in his eyes but pain in his heart
Things are never what they seem
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