Empty Vases

Alone she stares through familiar windowpanes standing with a past image of herself
Hoping for some flowers which would fill those empty vases seated on the shelf
Her wounded heart keeps throbbing in pain although she doesn’t fully understand why
This intensity buried deeply beneath her breasts continues to hurt and secretly cry

She tries numbing the pain of what’s missing via goblets oft filled with fine wine
While thinking if only flowers could fill empty vases, she knows that she’ll be fine
As she continues to embrace hope and prayers that, in time, she’ll find true love again
Firmly believing that flowers will return to her vases but is never really sure when