‘Funeral Flower’

Laced in elegance
she glides along the dusty riverbed,
One blood rose in her hair
the funeral flower in her hand.
Ebony trails lash the ground
Sweeping dust into them.

Tonight is the funeral night.
The night her beloved came to die.
And all those monsters
All those monsters she hides
come out to cry.
Rage fuelled agony pour from her open lips.
Screeching from her butchered heart, she is pale faced and full of grace
But her heart says otherwise.
The man lays at her side,
motionless
soundless
A shell of himself.

The seductress turned to murderess
in the dying sunlight
Crushing love-hearts into splinters
Pouring rage into her lover's flesh.

All memory he held was snatched by murders cold hands
Every thought he’d locked away was stolen
by a murderesses hands.
The hands of his beloved.

December 2003