She drags tired heels

across a tainted floor,

poise slightly bowed

and her back is sore.

She holds on her face

a cold marble stare,

a hard life engraved

upon cheeks once so fair.

Her faulting movements,

once graceful; divine,

her aching limbs now

with guile, defy

her final performance

on this dark empty stage,

memories fleeting

of a much better age...

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There was a man I knew,

not too close, not too far,

as a child he was there

to tend to my scars.

A man with a past,

of that I had no doubt,

a man, when provoked,

who knew how to shout.

A happy man

with a smile for all,

he'd always be there to

pick me up when I'd fall.

And though never far away,

we were never very close,

a sign of those times

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