Her wind is a boundless butterfly flapping its designer wings
To call her beauty simply magnificent would be an understated truth at best.
She dances pirouettes in limelight while onlookers lend their gaze to the most elegant of pagents
And the dance of her own death.
The sequins sparkle brightly amongst the illuminating light
The way her body flows its a wonder how we are all alive
To witness such a spectacle without a proper frame
A piece of art without the bounds of a four corner charade.
She falls to the floor to signal that her end is near
Who will throw roses to this angel in appreciation for the tears
While she was championing us with movement, as we are swelling with her pride
Her final dance, the darkest swan
The shadow of the broken night
Then her darkness washes over us
And the curtains cast us out to sea.
Leave it to the water
To wash the stains off our souls.
She was dead before she saw us
Throw a single rose.