On her knees, she holds on tight
to everything she's heard about,
but never really known.
Old voices of tomorrow's past
scream solitude into her ears
And each note of isolation bounces off
the furthest corners of her spirit
When she prays, the world around her shifts
till each detail looks like a piece
of some forgotten alphabet.
She cannot seem to find the corners
can't find a place to get her grip.
Slipping, she pauses in mid-downfall,
in a moment defying brevity.
And time wraps around itself
in organized chaos.
she crumples into a heap
gazing up at an odd emphyrean sky,
weeping for a shred of some blessed saving sanctity.