She Was

As the years where long, the wind a wild howl, for as sweet nature smelled, she was the wicked within the storm, then the cause of the calm. She breathed in loneliness and exhaled the truth of it, absolution, she bore the mark proudly. To be limitless as the untamed, feral in nature. To be as bitterly sweet as Belladonna, the alluring beauty deadly. To be as nefarious as the sinful, yet wholesome and intact. Desire, a plaguing reminder. Humanity itself unwelcoming and hostile. She preferred the isolation of clattering thunderstorms, wicked thrashes from rain clouds, the hammer of belting thunder and the fury of flashing lighting. Her preference was all things unearthly. Kindred spirits infrequent, perhaps enjoying the same seclusion she experienced daily, in a wondering mind of magnificent tales, untold by sealed lips forever bound with secrecy in a smile.