How she was dying for a smoke,
And how she was dying from smoke.
It was perfectly pleasing
To pretend in the past,
When she was blessed
With youth and youth's charm.
When she was once a wild flower,
Strong, with wanderlust,
Blood red petals,
Far from Death.
Until her streams ran dry,
Causing thirst within all of us,
A thirst for life,
Her life, if not, our own lives,
In which, she was a constant North Star
Or maybe, for some,
A thirst to end the pain,
Her pain, Unimaginable,
A thirst for silence,
Our deafening speechlessness,
A thirst for oblivion.
Sinking into the Deep Sleep,
She leaves behind, her pain, her worry,
But never our love.
Always
Our
Love.

-Jamie F. Nugent