Cold Hearted

She came swift as the breeze, no need to tell her it wasn’t meant to be
It’s almost as if she was meant to see the darker side of things,
fluttering pink petals flying about aimlessly,
it’s hard to tell if she died vainly or just plainly,
her elegance as she fell to the floor,
lying motionless, still, not blinking at all,
the cold swept me up off my feet.
I looked down and all I could manage to think of
was the body that lay below.
She was a bitter girl, unforgiving and sour,
to let her look upon me, hour after hour,
time was not spent well,
for she forever dwelled,
In that strange chasm, that seemed to swallow up her joy and prowess,
for all I can say tonight, I shall not recite the past,
her soul forever wondering, will it ever lay to rest,
I cannot bear witness to the acts that have taken place,
for I was nor here nor there, when her fate was decided at last.
If even a challenge was set upon me, I would not listen to the voice of reason,
the night was still, no joyous cries, no laughter to behold the silence, it was still.
For the night laments, no peaceful passage into the world of the dead was heard.
if ever the man was to be turned, bare witness he should have done,
to rectify his mistakes and pacify the situation, his hands shook,
heart palpitations ran through his already tense body, beads of sweat dripped from his chin,
onto the cold marble floor, where they sunk into, the woollen scarf, which lay upon her chest,
enwrapped around the woman, that he had murdered in front of the door.
The stories of her life, passed around the house, like a memoir, forever enticing,
her presence lingered.
Even though she was dead, the man felt a sense of belonging,
in her house, the need for a spouse, had never occurred to him.
He was a boring figure, with not so much a grin in his life,
but for now he had, done what he believed was right.