Ashen

From a distance, she hovers: hesitant penitent,
unmended mendicant, despite countless absolutions.
For her mind dwells in monochrome landscapes
that do not allow for Mercy's shades of grey.
Her scars for stumbling too many to count, recount,
she's fallen silent from loss of words to further shriek,
loss of willing ears to hear her further house mouse squeaks
that speak to the exact depth of her pit,
the measure of her irredeemable bits.

By some gumption deep within,
she knows not from what long dried up blood vein
where once coursed life;
what soured juices from an acid gut
which once was incorrigible;
what half flutter of her near dead core, 
no longer rainbowed butterfly but dull grey moth 
feeding on the detritus of a bygone glory...
Yet she felt a soul stir, heavy lidded from oversleep.

So her feet found dank earth beneath
urge step by gingered step 
until she was at the threshold.
She, outside looking in.
They, inside looking out
upon her doomful demeanour.
She'd come tattered dressed for the part
renting her barely beating heart.
Resplendent in self congratulatory smug 
they shrug and watch her, waiting, baiting.
But beyond their square set jaws
she spies the mute drip, drip course
of Love's diamond tears mingled with blood.
It was that, which drew her,
sucked from her lips a soft sigh
of resignation, a recognition of 
warm hearth within for her cold home without.

She follows the queue, chin tucked till
finally struck by the force of a fine finger point:
the merest whisper of coal black ash
gashed her brow, sending hellfire Into
every joint.  Sent her leaping as the
tidal swell of tears for fears, of bile
against herself overwhelmed, overran
her fragile borders. She escapes into 
the night, but in her fumbling flight 
through the door she couldn't help 
noticing that she weighed somehow, 
less than before.