where the writers are
The Lonely Maiden

She lies atop her downy pillows
Her eyes upon the high ceiling
But she does not see the cracks
Like those on the tortoiseshell
Crossing the face of the plaster
For her gaze is upon the unseen
And her thoughts lost in the mists
As she tries to bring up another
She fixes in chiseled features
In the beloved outline of a face
Her creation then takes on the form
Of one of the legends of old
Thor, Apollo, Arthur… or is it Zeus?
This evokes the sound of thunder
That bestirs her from her daze
She glances around the empty room
But her dreams are not for real
Thus she starts to weep
And like the first drops of rain
Tears fall and blur her vision
When will another come?