She sits In silence Waiting for her day Hands folded neatly In her lap Staring Into the distance Looking for life? Looking for hope?

She sits On an old wooden bench In an eerie quiet In a vacuum of time

Spine arched In silent surrender Feet firmly planted On the ground of disappointment

Bare feet Dry, cracked heels Resting on soft, dark-brown earth Muddying the hem Of a long, flowing skirt

She sits And looks And deliberates

The life to which She has resigned

Sighs Slowly rises Reenters the monotone

Leaving space For another soul To come And sit And contemplate

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I also write poetry and love your poem. What was the inspiration for this piece? Keep writing and posting. I look forward to reading more of your work.

Thanks. Louise Paré Ashland, OR

​​​​Louise

Me too love writing poems. I was thinking what was stopping her. I imagine "She" in a fragile and delicate frame. All slender and in white "spined arched" yet looking up with hope.

Your title do suggest hope. Loved how this poem tickled my thoughts

Have fun writing and it wonderful to be engaged in your poems.

Cheers, Amei