An ashen stranger returns my gaze.
Her eyes, the window of the soul, tell.
Dull, spiritless with a deathly veil
and deep blue gray circles beneath.
She stares perplexed, mystified.
Her hand touches her forehead.
She winces in pain.
She fumbles clumsily with her pills.
I feel sorry for her.
I turn off the bright bathroom light
so I can no longer see the mirror.
Her eyes, the window of the soul, tell.
Dull, spiritless with a deathly veil
and deep blue gray circles beneath.
She stares perplexed, mystified.
Her hand touches her forehead.
She winces in pain.
She fumbles clumsily with her pills.
I feel sorry for her.
I turn off the bright bathroom light
so I can no longer see the mirror.
Great poem. That line about hand on forehead...I so identify with it. But what a surprise that last line was! Loved it!
Gale