chosen a bloodwood box, ornately carved
bright red velvet, carefully lined, to hold
the finest tear drops of aquamarine, blue
delicate necklace, of filigree of gold, lays
waiting, silent in the enclosed velvet case
to be moved again, shelf to shelf, sold
until lifted, from the dark place, within
to be placed, clasped around the throat
by the hands of him, who adores, her

within, concealed, is the scorpion sting
of tiny, sharp metal, bending so slight
small, hidden among  the intricate filigree
the delicate scroll containing, the warning
of betrayal, destiny,  in the golden chains
glistening, sparkling jewels, in the light
in the deeper, darker place, a hidden lie
as she dances with delight to the music

comes the ending, the moon rises high
the night fills with the scent of jasmine
carried by the breeze, from a nearby tree
across the dance floor, turning she hears
the voice of the nightingale, feels the sting
etched into her skin, from that silent chain
she drops, as the call of the masked owl
in the distance, echoes in the great hall

the crimson of vermilion, beauty concealing
unrevealing, hate supposed, never imposed
crossing the oceans, hand to hand, to land
into the life of another, that offered no harm
carried the message further, than destined
to blacken the blood, that congealed, shriven
her destiny came, driven to an early grave
by his gift that stilled the heart of his lover

and his

Categories: Poetry