Poezja

Dead winds blow through the
Parlor door
Silently she screams
 
No one to hear her
Desperate cry
She waits, hopes, and dreams
 
A sin it seems to
Want for more
Than stone, wood and brass
 
Resolved, she watches
The sun die
Through the old stained glass
 
Trapped in unselfish
Devotion
Both, the cage and key
 
Lingering in what
Might have been
Pain comes easily
 
Vows uttered with good
Intention
A velvet-lined snare
 
She, with rosary
In her hand
Buries it in prayer