A counterfeit tear escapes a black veil,
A lacy hand delicately dabs at the trail
Life orchestrates a sonata of grey hair,
that time perpetuates, refusing repair.
Money buys youth with a surgical knife,
Doted on her and hard work took his life.
Dancing upon the vicarious edged sword,
Blessings and good fortune to hoard.
Heart hardened by selfishness,
So many sins unconfessed.
She's aware life is so unfair,
but her remorse just isn't there .
Contemplating enviously at a funeral nave,
Do greener pastures exist beyond that grave?
Jealously thinking it better not be,
His soul belonged to me.
Foolish notions, vane hearted,
As eulogistic words proclaim dearly departed.
Casting down a flower and a handful of dirt,
Clutching a chest to imply the hurt.
Chrysanthemums fall like the rain,
Concealing the faked mask of pain.
Conniving behind lies and half truth,
Mourning only for fleeting youth.
She was never the devote wife,
Looking after her own interests and life
Selfishly forgetting the devoted soul,
Laid to rest in a deep damp hole.