An anonymous woman
late in blooming
sat staring at bare walls
questioning her choice of decor
after so many years
spent chasing missions and dreams
only to find nothing
she could call her own.
She refuses to weep, alone
picks up her glass of wine
tastes what life passed by
makes plans to change her attire
throws another log on the fire
watches as it burns like
more of her limited time.
Tears cascade down her cheeks
she mumbles to herself
I am incomplete.
Ignited 
“tastes what life passed by…” oh, I feel that. In fact, I feel it all.
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Many feel this way, self included..
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