Regret

There is a hunger in every fibre of her being.
A longing, a wishing, for something she does not
and cannot possess.

She looks behind her, to footprints in the soft,
dark soil, and feels the eyes of the woman she could
have been; watching.

Drawing her hood about her face, head down,
she keeps walking. Always walking. She does not
know where she is going.

She tries to keep her eyes fixed on the earth,
but somehow her eye is always drawn upwards
to the soft blue sky.

She sees the hawks circling, spinning, rejoicing
in their airy liberty. Her bloody hands tremble as
she is consumed by her regrets.

Every day, she is falling, lost, purposeless. Knowing
her destiny, but unable to reach it. Every day, she loses
a piece of her soul into darkness.

Above all else she fears the void.