Poetry

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The last wave is coming soon
The riders board to meet the groom
Open windows, heaven's doors
Comes only by The Lord
She waits; silent, anticipating.

Her eyes watch the boarding plane
Wishing she'd stop the rains
Wanting so to take the step
Only finding deep regrets
She moves back to her shadows.

The wave comes expectantly
The plane boards openly
Like time caught her misery
She holds her tears from all to see
Tighter she leans

Then laced within her feathered locket
Braced inside it's velvet pocket
She holds the vial of arsenic
Tighter in her grip.

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