The blood drips from her hand
It seeps into the depths of the page
Soaking like ink the runs red and
Dulling cold with emotionless rage.

A young soul tortured old
She lets it bleed without care
Quivering hand, fingers unfold
Written all, she rests back to chair.

A midnight chime, days have cross'd
Same words of mine, "I loved and lost!"


         I've pondered in dark twilight hours
         What has been written on the page
         But unlike the falling, wilted flowers
         The passionless words never age.