Death of a soul

A daunting flower lends its wings,
Parting with light as the nightingale sings.

Her pale hair shines with dying light,
Weary autumn eyes meet her sight,
Creases of age line the memories of her cheeks,
And softly with tired lips she speaks.

Time spins a web of dying regrets,
Among the curling smoke of her cigarettes;
A shadow flows with her silent steps,
Carrying unknown burdens, forgotten debts.

She clings with sorrow to life’s hands,
Drowning with silent lips in time’s wastelands;
Her head bowed, she sits in stone,
Forgetting the light her love once shone.

And the clock hands turn, like winter’s seasons,
Among the broken symphonies, a million reasons
Weep silently with the morning’s chill;
The roses resting on her windowsill
Have withered in the frost of her goodbyes;
And softly, inside her heart, an angel cries.