Ballroom Doom
A shroud of dark and eerie gloom
Hangs over the static ballroom
In the air, the scent of too-strong perfume
On the floor, glass swept by a little old broom
An end has come to every game
The paint paper man is trapped in his frame
Behind the glass, his head hangs in shame
Cards fallen off tables, the forks all aflame
With feminine fingers unfurled, there she lies
All signs of life drained from the blue of her eyes
Lips are just parted, holding back "why?"s
But it was too late; she had met her demise
A gunshot to the head
Was it something she'd said?
Guests fled as she bled
Found doors locked, seas of red
And the dancers all screamed
As the man bled them out
The musicians' eyes gleamed
With tears full of doubt
But yesterday's over
And we're left with the mess
Of events that wove her
Black funeral dress
Copyright © Vella Taliare | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment