The fire has died
And all I’m left with are the ashes
The grey remains of what once was
A silver powder, which will disappear with the slightest breeze
The earth is spinning
And I’m standing still not moving
The shadow of the person I used to be
A distant image is the life I had once desired for myself
The future is uncertain
And I have no remedy
The days seem bleaker with every passing month
A tragedy of loneliness too dark to describe too real to endure
An Artist at Heart 