Crimson Bouquet
In spectral glow moon's pallor,
country home towered ominously,
fortress bearing silent the tragedy,
ensnared within its stone.
Her footfalls echoed in the hollow foyer,
mournful dirge in the cathedral of loss,
mirth of yesteryears drifting through
grief shrouded chambers.
In the parlor remnants of joy lay scattered, abandoned in the cruel march of time,
phantasmal echoes of children's laughter,
danced at the periphery of her conscious.
Amidst these relics of a happier epoch,
she stood the depth of her sorrow,
mirrored in the forgotten,
descends psyche.
In the nursery detritus disarray,
daughter's cherished bear sentinel,
against the wall a silent plea,
for a return never to come.
mobile twirled capricious breeze,
the yawning window,
lullaby tormenting serenade,
ghost of joy lost.
The chambers pregnant memories,
too agonizing to confront,
ethereal violins of juvenile,
playful exuberance assailed senses.
Despite her desperate denial,
the bitter truth clawed at her heart,
child forever lost and these hallowed halls,
never reverberate her lilting voice again.
Surrendering to her knees
amidst remnants of ephemeral existence,
clutched a diminutive shoe tangible echo,
loss, and surrendered to her sorrow.
Few shots of alcohol consumed her wails.
Walking outside she chewed carbon,
ate powder and blew her mind,
with lead shotgun pellets,
matter and rose petals.
Copyright ©
Beatrix Macabre
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