Lorraine’s gifts
At 8 she was a pretty girl
slight wave in her black hair
her voice clear as a nightingale
her songs to fill the air
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
the moon above reflecting on the waves
that crashed on land
At 12 she drew in colours
and shapes of wondrous kind
so intricate and faint, soft shades
to bring her art to life
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
the moon did cast her shadow
coloured as her thoughts inside
At 18 she did use her hands
to give the moist clay shape
and when it dried, each one sighed
her sculpture spoke in dimmest light
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
thoughts of darkness choked her throat
a jar of pills she held
At 22 her depth of thought
expressed in poetry
that reached the hearts of everyone
stirred souls that could not feel
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
her eyes did stare, her right hand bare,
her left hand held a blade
At 26 this special girl
adored by all she met
acclaim and recognition brought
much honour and respect
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
at ebb she sat, began to cry
until she changed the tide
At 30 she no longer sang,
no longer wrote or mixed the paint
each work cost her a piece of life
she’d never find again
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
to wonder, all the gifts of joy
left her depressed and waned
At 34 she thought to trade her gifts
for peace of mind
fertilizers took her voice
her hand and arm a fall had mauled
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
the moon above reflecting on the waves
she didn’t care
At 38 her torment grew
her insides drained and bare
she’d hide her sadness with a smile
no love of life left in her eye
And in the night she dressed in white
and walked along the sand
her body weak, her strength all spent
her thoughts consumed by ‘end’
At 42 she thought she knew
and this set out to do
all the gifts one once could see
brought agony and misery
And on that night she dressed in black
and walked along the sand
took pills and poison, slid her wrist
and life ran from her vein
The trail of blood soaked in the sand
toward the rip she swam
the next wave cleared her traces
as if she’d never been
But now before the day turns night
the sinking sun is red
it’s shine reflecting on the waves
ever since she’s dead
© Heinz Ross, Gold Coast, Australia
29.June-7.July.2008
