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POOR   WOMAN


Poor woman.
Who knows the true depth of her feelings
that she should walk out of her home one morning,
never to be seen again.

Only 35.
No age at all.
And yet so much doom had closed her mind
to what she was to forego.

Children, brittle to the pain of losing her
were not even enough for her to cope.
Relinquishing dreams and hopes
were all past her now.
All she beseeched was a blessed end to
those voices that spoke unintelligible words.

Black thoughts had evaded her spasmodic sleep.
Nightmares countered her daylight hours, and
she was done with it all.

Slipping away that morning was easy,
though her drive was a heartbreaking endeavour.
It was within her grasp.
A permanent end to the misery.

No-one was about and
she slid up onto the rail of the bridge.
Crashing water below enveloped her position
And the salty air was fragrant.

She flew,
and it was a bird set free from it's numbing cage……….







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