How does one so strong
Become such a lonely victim?
Have those nerves of steel
Merely failed,
Or are you slower;
Laid low by the weight of your sins?

I can barely watch,
Or heed the tales
From the Western Hills,
For the woman that I knew
Would not bend;
Instead…
Would spit venom from a blazing steed.

I am no aficionado,
Although the wounds to my soul
Have healed,
But I am certainly more
Than a spectator;
A wise man,
Planting flowers at the edge of the sea.

Perhaps you are not so judicious,
Boasting of riches
In the assessor’s lair,
But nay are you a pauper’s daughter,
Pawning favors at a country fair.

Rise once again from the ruins,
Knowing it will likely be your last,
But do so with the class
That you’ve passed to your seed,
And forsake the foul reasoning
Of your past.

The ledger is not yet tallied,
Until the Reaper wields killing scythe.
Opportunity for peace envelops you,
Beckons you,
Knowing the failings you deny.

And I,
Who once gave so considerably,
Look on with curious eye,
And wonder,
What will become of your life.