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Viscous and thermal in design
Black in temper and form.
Shadowed by a vicious attack
Spawned out of the storm.
The aftermath was freedom
But forsaken she didn’t believe.
She thought she could trust the man
But didn’t see what was up his sleeve.
Darkened as the night
It fell upon her like rain.
Consequence of being alone
Now will be her pain.
Blood seeps from open wounds
Standing in the way.
She begs the shadows for a moment of peace
But they are not going away.
The tomb that marks her body
They refused to have engraved.
The secret that died with her
Left her body depraved.
A cross hangs upside down it
Because they claim she is the devil.
Not certain what the criteria is
But Christians find their level.
Hungry is revenge
Built upon a twist.
Lies form in sands of anger
That now become a fist.
The fist of man knows no honor
When he wants a secret hidden.
The danger comes in knowing
What is ultimately forbidden.
Do you dare cast question upon him?
Question his dignity?
Well, my dear.. If you do
Then I can only hand you pity.
If there is ever a time you forget your place
You can visit the tomb.
It’s unmarked and unassuming
Like his mothers shadowed womb.
Tagged in josephine ranes