• The blood has been washed from my dress ,
    The linen is fresh and clean,
    But the stains on my soul remain.
    My mind shall not erase the scene.

    I scream at her in anger,
    For words cannot actions take,
    With careless thought, stone leaps from my palm,
    And the hard wall halts her descent.

    Out to me she reaches, bleeding profusely,
    I move not, as a smile is welcomed upon my lips,
    Fear grows within her eyes as she ebbs,
    And the cold floor welcomes her passing.

    But her eyes accuse me still, haunting and open,
    Though her life has been extinguished,
    Death and blood scent hang heavy in the air
    As here I still stand.

    I take a seat in the nearest chair,
    And stare out at the warm, sunny day.
    I ponder her fate, heaven or hell,
    As I sit in the sun and bake.