Resplendence once it was
Old Lady's heart raced in bliss
Indeed a tumultous whirlwind
When Old Lady thought of it
To be absolute perpetuity
While it was camouflaged in ephemarility
Ears were shut and she saw none
Old Lady's soul behoved for own art and
The conical pendulum balances
Ecstasy's pretence and doldrums actuality
As she's caged in thrall
When at stake is her
Impulse of creativity
Her impulse of absolute trueness
But as of today
Old Lady let's herself and her purity
Stained so wicked
With utter excruciating numbness
Remembrance of the time ever fleeting
When Old Lady danced to
The only form to preclude pain
Now Old Lady's whereabouts
Traced only in deep trenches
Of a forever nothingness
When there lies no resonation
The actual death of Old Lady's
Once very own essence
Once so much of ingenious imagination
Old Lady curls herself
In her shroud of authenticity's stupor
Forgetting time, forgetting tomorrows
When it was of a ceaseless forever
When now it remains as
A mere shadow from yesteryear
When Old Lady turns treacherous
When she has remained
As serpent to her own craft
Her once own realm
When there remained
No surface to her being
Not an escape on the brim
When Old Lady once was
Her very own linguist
For her musings
Entangled with clearance of true reflection
Now, she wakes in cold sweats
When the night no longer delights
When the night now strangles her into profound depths
When she looses her only panacea
When Old Lady's soul portrayed transparency
When now it's of a very dangerous opacity
