She was just sitting there,
the hand joined, like begging for a prayer.
Eyes scattering on her perfect and ivory nails.
The end of her time.
Waiting for the eternal blackness.
A casket of white hair, perfect in their cloudy set,
the sign of her age.
Then she points out.
Shimmering stone in a brick wall.
Images of resignation.
Teaching me life.
Teaching me everything.
Are you watching me?
trashed by his tales,
voices of flaws never forgotten.
A hundred years.