She felt a seering pain,
rushing through her bosom.
And who would have thought,
that her life was, but wholesome?




She envelopes herself in,
her world of shadows.
wishes and ambitions crying out,
to her like ancient widows.




She wants to tell the world
of her pain, scream, screech, wail, shout.
But will anyone listen,
without a poundage of doubt?




She resigns herself to her fate
her story left, untold.
Still, crouching, mingling, with the dark
Letting herself unfold.




She is the divine creation,
consumed in her misery,
oh! what a paradoxical irony,
the creator of man, killed...
because she is... SHE.