She sits in clouds
of swirling vapor
attached to
the
earth

No softness of feather
her features erroded
by ages past knowing

She has no heart
the sand
from her hardened
countenance
her only
tears

A matron, or patriarch
lies at her feet
she knows
not who

She is uncertain
uncaring
a carved cairn
who feels no melancholy
hears no marches
as the casket was brought

She sits in the mist
with no memory

mute monolith
who's sight

is

stone

  SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/9/2017