For boundless seasons she is quiet,
Undisturbed amongst overgrown brush;
A capsule of elegance coated
in debris and dried hints of panic.
Etched on her skin a fading map —
A cracked strip of pavement
laying Terror’s path —
A pale reminder of darker will.
Masses of hair tangled in wine stained grass
above shoulders growing more
comfortable with every encroaching
moment of solitude.
Fingers stiff and malleable,
Clutching desperately for warmth
beneath her Sun’s stitched blanket
enveloping the once cherished plain.
For seasons more her mind is to remain
untouched; a realm of forced prospect,
Strained images of solace crafted for
fear of declination into the Great Delirium.
