Unscented Blossoms

Two hands entwined in their poignantly fabricated world,

Tapestries of doom enveloping her feeble body.

The ghosts of tragedy loomed large,

As touch became their only modicum of hope.

For they had eyes that were oblivious to this ignominious world,

And fingers that had only ever felt love.

But this world is no place for affection,

Featuring torment, anguish and dejection.

So fate gambled her life away;

Her mother’s womb morphing into a cradle of death.

The whispers of death devised the plan of her inexorable demise,

Cajoling her divine bloom into eternal comatose.

A hush swept over what was once resplendent,

To end a girl child’s  cursed existence.

The angels of love wept bitterly.

At the loss of the soulless sister.

It was a riot of colors as ashes fell from heaven itself,

And a spirited prince was born.

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