Shadow of a rose

Dripping from her body,
As it's racing in between, the mud amidst her feet
How beautiful is the sound, a purely melancholic echo,
As it drains in the holes that lead so far below,

The freezing cold air, that breeze in between her freshly washed hair,
Lets in the distant screams of the wind, where misfortune has welcomed her in,
With the creak of oak boards, scattering mice, a crook in bed crashed for the night
To say she is alone is an appetite for a horrific malice, as she opens the door,
Fearful, in preparation for a cold winter's fight.

A sneak out the door like an escape from an alcatraz mocked prison,
She prays for her sins, in hopes to never be caught, or sent back in
To begin the walk down a dark road to be forgiven, perhaps forgotten,
Just so as long her voice remains forever silent
Where a pale blue sky has left a gothic shout,

As the moon light screams to be let out
For her journey is a long one, walking cold, and barely clothed,
Destined for freedom, yet being sought out beyond a whispered doubt.
Where her bare toed feet slap the rocks of a hollow cruel road,

And shadows are born, to creep and horror her along this crippling shroud,
A name of hers to be called, a shame that her misfortune had been flawed,
So it be that they continue to follow her, in hopes to no destiny in the gallows barrage.

As blood begins to drip from her head, like a water faucet of beauty in a hemorrhage

Late through the night,
The Wind blows and a storm grows, as thunder and lightning sing melodies that she they shall
stroke,

A victim who plays innocent, where the bolt begins to strike, and her heart no longer a light.
To be what would seem the end, begins a new terror within, the birth of a true dark night.

Awakening in a world of doubt, where no longer will they hear her scream or shout.
No matter time of day, the sun will never rise as she will decay,

Til atlast it calls her by name, beauty by ashes, death shall win the game.
Alone at last, a queen of her past, a reign of eternal greatness shall never her pass.
So the shadows shall bow, and her grief shall sing, who would’ve thought death had a precious
sting?

Free to roam naked beautiful and alone,
A lover to never be atoned, yet still followed, frightened,
With no home
Until a late summer's eve, as emblers glow and the birds rest, put down their wings,

Her history is repeated once more, as clatters of footsteps gallop away down the hallway to
sing,
In a beat once recognized and attuned, as the shadow grows, reaps and groans.
To what privilege had she earned this petrifying visitation of leapers and foggers?

Dancing in the moonlight to summer’s dark gleam, for now she knew what it would mean,
As ole hickory tick tocks back and forth, the melody of a horrific tune at last takes a score.
As she runs down the hall which that never ends,

Reaches the railways around stairways that which never existed,
Looks down the rim of the fish bowl to see a glimpse of what’s coming,
Only to find darkness and false fortune, her end to a forever, beginning of absolutely nothing

For what could she hoard around before the fate falls bitter and frail?
Her nakedness now exposed, not one's eyes, but as many as stars in the sky could show
and many a tears could they cry.

But to what will prevail her from darkness to light? An end to nudity and fright,
The birth of a blessing over a cursed shadow, a rose, whose ashes bring color a flow.

Where Desperate she searches for an end to evil eyes
evidencing over every experimental vow, eager to edify,
Those Raging horses, racing through the mind, receptive vision, resonating in the lies,

The grave no longer a slip away, as her soul originates, old, overstated, yet bodacious and cold
slips away from his eyes.