Somewhere underneath that bed
dust collects and shields out all of the sunlight.
A blanket of grey traps a life's worth of memories.
Dark and profound inches of dirt
gather on top of precious secrets
waiting anxiously for the single sweep of a hand
to release all of the pressure of a lost cause.
It forms a tower that is getting too high to reach
casting dreary shadows too dead to awaken her somber.
Sobs break from over head
and under a body lies photographs of
milestone gowns, notes written with scribbled ease
and tickets to some mirage from a past
that she finds too hard to see.
If only she would take that shaking hand
glistening from the sorrow of her damaged ruins
and use her will to swipe into an era of acceptance.
Maybe the prisms in her eyes could align
to finally find the forgotten treasures and artifacts of her soul.