Three Women’s Woes Poem

Her sky-high heels, tell tale marks

upon my furnished floor boards,

the deep crimson lipstick shade

grated where my head lays to

slumber, the lonely hair slide traveled, trapped

deep amidst my leather recliner.

Unfaithful, Unworthy, Unkind.

 

Countless business excursions,

blank expressions, empty conversing,

tired, distant, love lost that

 past burned passionately. All

we wish for, the dream, dissolved,

dashed. Screaming, yearning for his attentive

glance, the light faded internally.

 

Veil flowing comfortably down my back,

resting lightly upon thee intricate white dress,

Today I shall be Mrs.

But wait, every detail but one

obeyed, falling to my knees, mud clung to

virgin white, face frozen.

He’s not coming.

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