Wilted flowers dot a field,
Blue on sun-scorched brown.
Helpless flowers with no shield
From the tears that all fall down.

Crumpled tissues on the floor
Attest to her nocturnal weeping;
She locks herself behind her door
Because no one heard her screaming.

She left notes but no one read,
And her calls were lost in dark;
She quoted what the hurting said,
But no one saw her breaking heart

So in her silent room she cries,
Awaiting some response,
Counting down until sunrise,
She awaits her renaissance.