Dungeon

a large part of the dungeon was the life upon her knees
a portion of the torture was a wilderness of hands
an aspect of the nightmare was the unlit empty street
the shade which wouldn't rise sent a chill along her cheek
she shivered at the thought of never giving birth
at the funeral of color she wept a strange disease
what was not attended to could no longer be attained
on an endless loop of singing she heard slogans she had dreamed
her knitted brow foretold her boiler bursting in the night
from where would help unveil itself tomorrow at this time?
where was the man  hired to carry her agenda?
why were ghosts in wry mirrors feeding on hope?
what was happiness to her, a woman of perpetual mien,
who lived wholly within the anguish of her imagination?