A sorrowful step-daughter dances
listless hours away, stepping in slow,
graceless shuffles to this maddening tune.
Dust stirs in small, acidric clouds
rising slowly, like a fog, causing her
gorge to claw it's burning way up her throat.
Her glass slippers have long since shattered,
and she dances on the sharp shards of loss.
Each step, each dance, is a new lesson in bleeding.
Her dress hangs in pathetic tatters, like
so many of her delusions, ragged and unkempt
but the bones bared in her smile never falter,
they scream their warning always. In this tale,
it is love that fades, but the sadistic grins
remain fixed in place; the idols of the past.
This is what ever after entails, once our
need to be voyeurs is sated and we turn away.
Horror lies in the wake of every legend.
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Halloween is Right around the corner.. .
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Very deep and descriptive. Your a wonderfull poet. - Gypsy
