She looked like a ghost of herself <br />When she first came stumbling into my sight. <br />I asked her if I could help her, perhaps I <br />Could make what was wrong right. <br />But no, she wanted to be invisible, a <br />Shadow that could come and go at will. <br />For this would allow her to be weak, <br />To swallow her own dose of bitter pills. <br />Her eyes were emblems of defeat, <br />Shallow pools of reflected disguises <br />Which she wore in humble disgrace. <br />I offered to wipe her crying eyes, <br />But she insisted they remain teared. <br />Stepping carefully on the walk of doom, <br />She surprised me with her sense of failure. <br />I offered to keep her safe in my room, <br />But she had other visions to follow. <br />Dear Lady, whatever happened to you <br />That has made you so weak with despair? <br />I watched her as she humiliated herself <br />With sombre tones of troubled glare. <br />I cried with her, it seemed all I could do, <br />As she worked her passage to her dying. <br />Each day had become a pill to take, <br />Another method of improving her lying. <br />Sad that we could not break her bonds, <br />Which she so casually adopted as her sign. <br />I could not help her, though I prayed <br />That she might see the sadness resigned.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dear-lady/
