Surrounded in world, perpetually shadowed in midnight,

There is a hushed whisper, a thousand voices accusing.

The feeling of threadbare blankets covering thin limbs,

and the breeze is the fingers of the ones lost to us.

There is one person remaining, outside of the reality,

and her hair is the purest shade of silver.

Tiny shoulders are the craftsmanship of the universe,

and dark blue eyes encase the ocean in their depths.

The raw emotion of a thousand men, women, children,

can be seen in her gaze as she surveys her handiwork.

The earth had been beautiful, but was losing its attractiveness,

the deep dark voice of urban buildings, and 'society' and it's talk.

As she watches the world, she stands there alone,

the sky begins to darken, the night falls upon the world.

It smashes down in sheets of ebony shaded disaster,

bringing with it the horrors that keep children awake.

The sky, it falls down, bringing fear in its wake,

as the tragedy creeps through another window.

A gun in it's palm, a thought in its mind,

the woman, she falls, hands, clutched to her breast,

as the blood pours from between her fingertips,

leaving nothing, but a broken heart.