She walks, like madness in the night.
Never quite knowing, if she's been steered right.
She runs, on eggshells all day long.
or hot coals, whichever you'd prefer to call them.
She knows she's fading, distantly anticipating.
Where she'll end up, no one quite knows.
She walks, down by the seashore; moonlight, it disappears.
Patiently waiting, for a place to call her own.
She sits, underneath the starry night sky, wishing, waiting, to reappear.
© 2013 Christina Jackson