Her legacy, a carnage littered place.
A crassness hidden by a comely face.
How many roles she played to such acclaim
The naive lovers crushed with cool disdain.
Such cruelty, in order to succeed,
Disguised by gifted wit to mask her greed.
When front doors opened, back doors quietly closed,
A sense of flawless timing, one supposed.
When those betrayed per-chance began to meet,
Comparing scars and tales of her deceit,
She sensed a coming rage was bearing down
And disappeared to bless another town.
One speculates her looks began to fade;
An ending of the money-men parade.
The crushing weight of countless dues unpaid;
A pauper's grave, the toll of evil ways.
Copyright © Gene Bourne | Year Posted 2014
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