Her thoughts are tired,

Those marathon thoughts,

How cold where they lean like bare prison walls,
Scratched and dented into...
Pale the sky in the window, a faded blue,
And a bulb flutters like a bird, dim and not enough!
Her thoughts are worn,
Those marathon thoughts.
How thirsty they stand in a desert of storms,
blinded by flying desire for peace at last...
As moonlight moves upon them after the sun,
They reach beyond where they can no longer go!
She wishes she had a spoke,
To pierce the thick sheet of darkness covering her soul,
A pin-hole of light was enough to last...
Enough to drain out her sorrows ,
To clear her dewy vision of the past!