She’s smiling.
That soft smile,
Like a whisper of hope
In a world drained of light.

She’s laughing.
A mix of all kinds,
Like a chorus of bells
After the church wedding.

She’s speaking now.
Her voice,
Like a sail or a stream of smoke,
Caught up in the wind.

Here he comes
His strides,
Like ticks of a time bomb
Set within her peace.

She’s silent
Her mouth,
Like a vault full of riches
Is in lock-down.

She laughs,
But it’s bruised,
Like the bulged knuckle
Of his left ring finger.

She smiles,
But it is dull,
Like their worn rings clashing
Upon their linked hands.

They walk away,
Neither happy,
But she will stay in those arms;
the ones that grip her too firmly.