A garden, a bit overgrown
High hedge, weeds, small house
A corpse of a man middle aged
Lies dead, made still alive
By a teenage girl, in rage
Her grief, her guilt, her anger
The corpse could tell, her
Hands still red, blood not dried
Yet he lives!
In her mind
Despite, her knowing he is dead really
She can't forgive the crime
But for he is dead and so does no wrong
Oddly, she loves him still
Grieves by the body
Dips her hands in the still warm blood
Her tears soon will flood
But not for now until she leaves
The blood lukewarm, cold
He can no longer hear of her pleading!
© Copyright 2017 ALAN FASHION. All rights reserved.
Book / Mystery and Crime
Book / Non-Fiction
Short Story / Romance