as the simple black pen
and neatly placed pages of
empty paper waiting upon a lonely looking,
modestly crafted wooden table – her thoughts
were most likely her’s to keep now.
depending which way you look at it, as the half-sided
curtain hanging over the only window, nobody was right here.
A window just that too high too see out of,
even on tip-toes. The words written and
prayers smitten make no difference now.
as any student with a conscience, she never
lost her head until the very end. Her eyes
didn’t see an end though, just a passage
to a better place – where the sun still shone
upon white roses.