shrieking of rising winds
echoing through cold halls
empty chambers where
once happiness dwelt
now swept by the gale
remnants of a past epoch
torn from their moorings
scattered
upon a mosaic of tiles,
broken, jagged
crimson footprints tread
lightly down the chute
blown by the gusts
of yester-eve
spinning, crashing
through mirrors of ice
twisted and broken
as her life
yet she laughs
as she slips through
the tatters of reality
and plunges headlong
into the cyclone