Beneath the Veil of Boredom

Upon a bridge of whispered stone,

Solitary she stands, a specter disowned.

Beneath the river, a symphony of woe,

Guilt, a seamstress, weaving thoughts slow.

Dullness draped in hues of ashen sorrow,

A weighted palette, whispers laden, borrowed.

In that tempted mind, a tapestry frayed,

A soul adrift, a desolation conveyed.

Eyes transcend into the water's astral face,

Reflecting a woman, a mosaic misplaced.

What meaning lies in this cyclical refrain,

Guide on her shoulder, a puppeteer of disdain.

Dear damned be the guilty in languid sloth,

A nefarious word, a tempest of thought.

“Leap?” her guide spits, a feverish urge,

Life's threads unraveled, livelihood to purge.

Beneath the bridge, the waters softly weep,

A reflection of questions, a celestial sweep.

The dullness echoes, resonates within,

A yearning for purpose, longing to end.

Today she mirrors her mother's ghost,

A voice akin to that of shadows enclosed.

"Leap, my dear, where adventure awaits,

Sloth's shackles break, death, a tempting gate."

A silence erodes beyond this streaming dream,

For a moment, quiet yields to an enigmatic gleam.

Mother’s gospel compels, an ethereal spell,

Dancing with death, an unbroken carousel.

Hasten be a woman’s feet entwined,

Tempted by water, dared to unbind.

A rush, an ephemeral escape from ennui,

A heartbeat shattered, her last breath, a symphony.