Whatever happened to this lost soul?
She claimed her life upon a dreary Sunday;
as the rain stained her window,
her tears stained her cheeks,
red with misery—she downed a bottle of narcotic death,
chased with bitter dreams that never came to pass;
only darkness could she see before her,
no matter the light that was shown on the path-
her past traumas, too tender to confront,
like old wounds, no ointment could heal
would that our dulcet words cheered
if only our libretto could lift her opiate-laced veil
the nothingness in her heart hidden
behind the façade of cordiality
medicated beyond our reach, the mask took her
tormented by failure are we brothers and sisters
words without actions—never reaching as hands must
her life played before her in slow motion scenes
as our honeyed lips undulated
whilst our prosaic tongues wagged
The reach, the flow; just beyond our grasp,
was her heart—her hand;
Oh, that we could have rescued her in life!
Oh, that we could snatch her now
from the darkened womb!
steal her from the face of bleakness
stand her tall in our midst
make clear her purpose on this earth
her aura a beautiful luminous beacon,
for all to see…
Written by Matthew and Dara
© 2015 This Mortal Flesh
A special thanks to Dara at Creations In Poetry & Words for taking time from her busy schedule to write with me. I’ve been a fan of Dara for some time now and I had a feeling that when we finally put our heads together a deep and meaningful piece would emerge. This piece is close to both of our hearts, as we both know people that have struggled and are currently struggling with depression, grief and anguish.