Oil Painting by Vilmantas Marcinkevičius
When the moment for redemption arrived, she fled.
'Twas time to let the truth out, but she left.
She didn't come back, she kept running away.
And hid herself in her closet full of skeletons far away.
There was a time when peaches were soft and the world was rosy.
That time seemed lost and far behind, but not at all to her.
A new life beckoned her and she grabbed at it with open arms.
Never understood the craters she left in the wake of her crimes.
I wonder what she does today, how does she weep.
If she does at all, when she imagines the endless well she dug.
For herself, if for none other, for that dread is awake and burning.
And when it subsides, in time, give birth to a wiser mind.
I hope she will be well now, wherever she lies suffering.
Because time will catch up with her, for the better or for worse.
And when the sands have fallen and been blown away by the wind.
She will realize and regret; she will carry a deadened stain.