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