As black and as ominous as the certain death
The chilling touch of bittersweet memories
Pushes her further to her grave
With this touch the curtains fall and so does her tears.
Her sleeping child,
Hush now, it has been years.
Intersecting paths just like the vines.
Hands taken, hearts left behind
Dictated by fate, intervention divine.
Of hopes splintered in time
She writes of poetry of regrets and of laments
True love awaits at the gates