Rita

In the dark street, where not even the moon’s cold rays feel safe,

Rita lives, hidden from the world, lost from herself.

Huddled there, night and day, hour on hour,

Repressing the pain, fighting the fear, delaying the inevitable.

Time was when life had smiled on Rita

When, at first, she walked more light-dappled paths.

This little girl, once, had flourished,

Blossomed in the sun,

Fed by the river,

Its waters nourishing the bright young flower,

Then transforming the maiden into a siren.

Her music charmed the men,

Enchanting the world around her.

But rivers never wait,

They surge onward down their course,

It was that same river’s flow that took her.

Rita could not stem the flow,

It dragged her inexorably to the sea.

The dark waters had no mercy, they were jealous; angry;

They sucked the woman down,

Deeper, and deeper, evolving the body

With the algae, feeding the monsters

With her dreams.

Finally, it cast Rita up on the shore.

Tainted by pain, broken inside

She’d found her way to that dark street

Where not even the moon’s cold rays felt safe,

In a corner forgotten by everyone,

Out of life, out of heart, out of her mind…

A dead, once lovely, but now lonely flower.

A woman, forgotten by life.

Rita had found a place to rest,

Not in peace,

But in her pain.

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