Mistaken, that is what I am.
Too much time spent searching without explanation,
Seeking refuge and comfort from the place where I was taken.

For even as the images they are flood my mind,
In the darkness of my own self-taught solitude
The reality of their truths cut deep into my spirit.
Until I find no use for myself, but to, to what?

Even now my mind searches for a resolution, an end,
Though my soul knows no end will be found.
My time is not near to find rest.

In my anger I thrash out, scratching and screaming
At an all but forgotten enemy.
Only to know that he can neither hear nor feel me.
And that I am reminded daily
Of a night that they have surely forgotten.

-Marie
09/06/2006