© Gloria Smith 2010
Ever the Golden Key is lost... the Lady surrenders her quest. I fight no more. My sword is in its sheath. My cup empty. My throat dry from crying; my soul parched. My arms empty as a poured out flask. My lips untouched. My passion calmed by the white flag of my surrender.
My loneliness owns me and I die... alone. No one calls my name. It is unknown. A soul lost in the night. I wander alone -- battered and torn.
Life held its beauty time and time ago. Love has eluded me like a deer running wild in the forest just out of view -- and so it is and so it will be.
I have fought a good fight. I was brave and true. My sword holds no one's blood but my own.
Night has overwhelmed the sunlight I once loved. I am its mistress. I abhor the darkness that invades my soul but there is no one to make me whole. No other half completes me.
I compete no more. The door is slowly closing. It creaks and groans under the weight of my discontent. My dress is satin, lace, and pearls. It lies still about me, so still about me... so still.