wordbyrdwriting

Grave

with the sound of a worried breeze

whistling through her hair

she opens her eyes

to a field illuminated with cold lies.

white lilies seem to stretch beyond eternity

her world ended too early.

 

the flowers begin to caress her with a mother’s sweetness

memories of your arms dissolve into a calm weakness

and she smiles for the first time

while dancing in its embrace.

 

yet, fear envelops her dance

as she watches the world around her collapse

lilies turn into the devil’s thorns

like an innocent woman scorned.

they grab at her wrists

crimson spews all around

so thick that the ground gives out

falling, falling, falling

into the grave that she made of her own.