She walked among the cold grey stones,
That marked the lives once lived before.
Mist rolling in with eerie dread,
As night walks leave the mourning dead.
Such silence rare, such peace again,
Her mind no longer screams in pain,
The fear is gone, the walk though long,
Through ghosts of hatred, battles won.
Reckless moments trapped in time
No minutes, hours mark this day,
Just souls forever, mortals lost,
To guide her on her dying day.
Reah Roberts ©2009
Tales From Behind A Cushion 