EPITAPH

She screamed in anguish in her mind
because she could not talk,
each scream attached to thoughts that bind
to memories that stalk.

She stumbles now trapped in her world
a written paradise,
soul from torment in her curled
stabbed by the silent cries.

The landscape she would always paint
so far from emptiness,
is now a dreamscape gray and faint
of hurtful loneliness.

The Knight that she had trusted in
a figment she had drawn,
as she always pictured him,
in the dew of love's sweet dawn.

She tried to find the perfect words,
yet knew they did not tell,
and knows no one has really heard,
another's pain-filled hell.

Now finally she is dead inside,
has turned and faced his lie,
and everything she was has died
with one last desperate cry.

With nothing left, no words to say
no friends, no hope, no wrath,
and nothing now for which to pray,
she writes her epitaph.©
RAC 3-11-99