Shuffling along a broken path,
Arms swaying limply,
Matted hair hanging around her face.
She trudges from emptiness to emptiness.
Bereft of pattern.
Lost without purpose.
Lonely without comfort.
Empty of reason.
She finds nothing to nourish her soul
As she moves into, around and through.
Within and without,
Over and under, outside and in.
She cracks branches and bumps against tree trunks
Deep in a forest that is empty of perception.
Stumbling and shuffling,
Grunting and grumbling,
Her heavy feet dragging step by step.
Moving ever forward through lifeless leaves and brittle bracken
Littered on the ground below.
Her heart is empty and yet she is full of selfish sorrow.
Mumbling and moaning as she is swayed by forces
That buffet and push her in another direction,
She hears a sound or catches a light in the distance
And turns to move towards it before it flickers out
Or is snuffed by the will of another.
On and on she trudges and turns and stumbles and drifts
Ever moving, ever shifting in
A state of unknown and unknowing.
She is empty.
She is struggling in the darkness of her soul.
Slowly moving from one earthly matter to the next
With an empty passion that is so full of naught
That it is easily shifted by the desires and the wills of others
She is tired. She is rotting.
She is ready
to find a glade where she can pitch forward on the soft moss
crashing down to hit the earth below her,
solid and safe, warm and still.
Where she can settle
To listen to the whisper of the leaves
As they turn to face the sun,
As they grow from bud to leaf to green to yellow to orange and then
Fall on the ground around her,
On top of her,
In their comforting decay.