Today bears the weight of erstwhile trepidation.
Uncertainties exhumed only to be hung up as ominous flags.
Black as night my widowed heart paraded through the procession.
Garbed in ash encrusted, sequinned frock, hemmed train all tattered in rags.

Herald the face with no features yet obscured behind a chiffon veil.
In hands, a bouquet of black roses, worm-eaten to the stems.
The mourning sun only gave the weakest glow,
feeble attempt to rejuvenate all that is stale;
to imbue the shimmer back into forsaken jewels and dulled gems.

Her entourage kept up with heavy feet; all grim and sullen.
Also faceless... Armed with pitchforks and torches.
Today they will draw much; having thirst for crimson.
Today they witness her death as the black parade marches.

Somehow I know
               Whatever I write,
           It’ll be about *you.

Hate
Visions of graves and flames
A feeling of such heat
Rage that builds and builds
Eyes blurred with deceit

Love
A feeling we all know
A most beautiful beginning
But we all dread its end
When your mind is spinning

Pain
Its deep inside your heart
Your soul broken to pieces
An unwanted memory
As the last tear releases