She could feel the gentle breeze on her back,
The shady shadows in front,
She paused -the cold blade poised,
A momentof hesitation…
Her father’s tired face loomed in front,
Her mother’s soiled apron -she visioned,
To pour the cinders of burning coals into their soul…
Her heart refused.
She lapsed into the cursed moment
Where trusting the breeze of her soil,
She had stepped out unchaperoned,
Unaware of the doom of lust
that dug its claws and ripped her youth.
Sealing the secret in her heart,
She lay in the pool of red,
Her hands hanging limp,
Her name in red in the cursed script of devil’s play…
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