Beyond the shuttered wake 

of the dust, emptiness, and silence,

Mourned the remnants of a skeleton,

The tangled words of a whisper

from a ghost that never left,

The purest of hearts poisoned 

by those who thirst for power,

The heartless destroying 

those who know how to love,

The story unheard and kept inside

to endure each day as it came alone,

With even the trusted unable to know

of the trials one faced,

Until it was too late,

And the damage was done,

Without proof of the real enemy,

Only the burning pages of the words 

painstakingly written for every day 

of torture faced in the indifference and sorrow,

And hopelessness and worry,

And bottomless grief,

Every day worse than the last,

Until the days came to an end...