Standing in the meadow, wondering where I have been,
Wondering how I got here, what is now and what was then.
Tragic destination, lonely travels in my mind,
Ever onward and about, seeking what I can find.
Home. Oh, how I wish that I could find that place,
Searching for a smile, reaching for a friendly face.
It is quiet, much to quiet, not even the whisper of the wind,
Numbers, people, lost, never found, and this...the end.
Yet I search and hope, day upon day, sheltering in the night,
An endless nothing. Dust and ash, only rot and decay my plight.
Should I scream? Could I scream? Silence of a lady evermore,
I search for a Hero, but perchance just a tale from folklore.
© Cynthia Clark