She possessed a
doubtful overture
of laughter
like an inner shadow
shielding pain
when speaking with passion
she covered her heart
as if preventing it
from being captured
by worldly pursuers
she rarely spoke of
holy things,
only then,
a half smile
when bored
she gazed about
slipping away
with a faint “amen”
she was a troubled
mosaic,
desperately attempting
to fit in
Roger Singer 