Sitting there, with her reflections,
she saw herself old.
She sobbed.
Growing up bitter was not supposed.
She thought hard,
and her wrinkled old face danced in unison.
She mourned.
Thinking of all her past miscalculation.
Once the tear started,
impossible it was to stop.
Once the memories are flushed,
they are rewinded non-stop.
She cried.
Not merely of past mistake.
She sorely anguished,
for future ones she will make.
YOU ARE READING
Danse Macabre
PoésieCollection of poem that delves with life and death. Questions of it, and people that are haunted by them. - Image cover by Natalia Drepina
