The Scorched Dreams

  The Scorched Dreams

Her gaze fixed on that elusive butterfly
Happiness writ large on its cyan wings
Her vermillion had hues of the rising sun
The henna, a labyrinth of artistic delight. 

Dreams crumbled as the henna grew dull
She implored the Gods with a mournful cry
The day passed in a blur of seamless pain   
Abuse and sheer brutality ruled the night. 

Death hounded her just a few steps shy
Hidden in the red orange charring flames
The dark Satanic demons conniving and sly
Overtook her before the year was done. 

Poor girl, bad luck, they said with a sigh
And to the sad, long list was added another one.            


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