Taken
In dreams, seeking refuge beyond the mind,
Still cannot run away from no one's face;
Awake to grope the space now occupied
By empty pillow, taken no one's place.
No hymns of heaven or redemption sung
Or endless torment; snow white, brown earth bed
Could measure sadness only just begun
When heard so loudly, whispers- 'She is dead.'
How can it be her soft cheeks fall away?
Her love sung softly music; nevermore-
So silence greets the black end of the day,
As blunted bones and calloused fingers claw
Against the crack and frozen window pane
To no avail; none linger, none remain.
A little sonnet for Elisabeth Sladen, a hero and inspiration to us all.
I will write something better for her later...