The Beauty and the Death

By the window, there she lays,

Such a beauty, in disgrace,

Such soft, red lips

Touched by even smoother fingertips,

Were steady, unmoved, in place

For she has fallen off his grace.

Dark locks, hanging side to side,

She seemed to be a mortal’s bride,

With so pale skin, she was so white

The twilight’s sky, it meant no night.

A tiny face by moon’s light hidden,

So that by no god she could be smitten.

Blue eyes, etched, glowing,

No blink, never meant of rising,

An icy look falling through the window

To the world where the wind could not blow.

One hand, stuck to her marble face

And the other meant to bend God’s grace.

But her eyes are getting dim,

And her face is looking grim,

Few maggots, blood, behind her ears,

A tragic sight for all the peers.

Her hand has fallen and with it,

Worms and bugs, the Heaven’s flames are lit.

She seems a shadow; her empty eyes

Send shrieks to all the mortals – lies.

Her beauty never fades away,

Her soft skin grants then no dismay,

With all the fleas, the horror, pestilence,

She drowns all mortals – cross the fence.

Her left hand now grows a scythe,

To make all living things in spite.

She is awoken, now has risen,

Her eyes have fallen, to imprison,

And now she struck your body.

The Death is dead – left is nobody!

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