The one wrapped in the green plaid blanket,
Shivering in the pale pink pajamas with worn lace cuffs.
The one with the matted hair, grey before its time.
The one with the glassy eyes.
The sunken eyes that follow the world without looking.
they are grief and sorrow and suffering,
Dull now, but may have once sparkled.
They now dwell only in dark, cruel pools of anguish.
I can feel her pulsing toward me, begging me to carry her away
In my own icy arms, to steal her from her eyes.
She yearns for me to end their rapid, colorless twitching
In the cold, grey room with the cold, grey concrete floor.
But it is not my time. It is not hers
To vanish, not yet. Yet can she release herself without me?
She can roam the world without any sign of life,
Grey eyes unmoving.
The man inside the silver box thinks he knows her life,
Thinks he can offer some comfort.
But I agree with the woman. He is nothing like her.
Speaking empty words
Solutions without problems
Although the woman cannot be repaired with words
From a shallow human tongue.
This piece won a Silver Key in the 2013 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards.