vanished into the atmosphere,
gone without a trace.
Her face we once knew well,
kind and gentle,
love in every detail.
Her laugh beckoned us,
with depth and warmth,
peaceful to its core.
Was she ever really there?
Running through the trees,
Quickly across the meadow,
The tall grass cutting like small razors.
Tripping over the rocks,
Hurling through the water,
Tossed back and forth between the hills.
Lost in the unfamiliar,
Caught like a rabbit in the snare,
Cries go unanswered.
Cold and wet,
Alone with a deep excruciating sadness,
Unaware of freedom,
Succumbed to the captivity.
Was she ever really there?
2011 © Melissa Meador Wilson
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