Faith

Oct 97


Tears stream silently down her face,
weeping for what might have been
and what she has lost.
Loss...less a person than a trust,
less the heat of a body than the freedom of giving,
less the future than the future of a heart.
Wanting to stay these tears,
she can do naught but surrender,
for she finds in herself much to despise.
The simple fact that she cries for him, at all,
the weakness that keeps her body aching for him,
the tremulous spirit that surrenders too easily,
the grieving heart that cannot heal.
She wishes apathy,
yet knows it to be a traitorous friend.
This, truely, the hardest year she has lived,
for it seems that her soul has become visible
and it is a barren and diseased place.
And, she has lost her faith in forever and fairytales
and that seems a tremendous loss, indeed.
It took so very long for her to believe 
in the beauty of her facade
only to reveal the desolation in her heart.
This all seems so terribly important
while being so damn useless.
Safer to be buried in fiction and daydreams
yet nothing seems safe any longer.




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