Forgotten

Quietly, almost motionless she rocks
Back and forth in that old pine chair
Near the window.
Silently, almost breathlessly she watches
The world below and the sky above
The window pane.
Night and day she waits there, seeing
Knowing, being. A sharpened knife presses
In her pocket.
Feeling, almost unblinking, like she doesn't
Exist. Only sections of her mind are open
But the window is closed.
She feels no cold like the air on her neck
Every night. She knows he has come for her
But is unable to move.
Speechless, almost deathlike she lies
Pale as the moon, beautiful as a shadow
Cast by a forgotten sun.
Time passes, almost unrecognised as hours
And minutes form days and weeks and years as
She sits, window side.
Rocking back and forth in that old pine chair
She waits for the misery to descend and for
Death to arrive like an expected visitor.
All her life she spent watching, alone
By the window, not a care in the world like
The weight on her shoulders.