She waits like melancholy mounted on
A monument of sorrow. “Woe is me”
She chants, and waits, and waits till her waiting
Becomes her white veil of celebration,
Of a ceremony, a ritual
That left her hanging, decaying, dying.
Her funeral pyre, a ruler’s throne
Waiting for her to climb the fire. Now.
She walks down the aisle, a burying bride,
The fuming ashes patiently waiting
To engulf her. She is a waterfall,
Falling, slowly landing in her cold hearse.
She shivers and breathes her last vows, burning
She sighs, forever she remains mourning.
About the painting – “Swan Song” is a painting by Dorina Costras