There She Lay

                                                              
The Sun glinting at angles through the leaves,

birds chirping ever so softly in the trees,

the brook flowing gently and seemingly noiselessly over the stones worn smooth with age,

the air thick and heady with the smell of flowers in full bloom in the distance,

oblivious to the wonder and beauty around her,

there she lay, on the forest floor soft and springy as a persian carpet with leaves long fallen

golden sun kissed hair that lay sprawled about her head,

eyes closed as though in sleep,

and lips slightly parted as awaiting a lover's kiss,

limbs at angles that that forboded her story,

but for the dark patch on the ground by her neck,

that told stories of the gentle seeping of life away from her into the carpet that was to become her funeral pyre,

she could have been asleep.

feel free ma'am
plot her death
ill be most grateful to see how twised u can go
note however
no "secular" weapons
she had just one point of exit of life,
good luck

i rarely have a specific word for my writings,
thoughts however, seems to be the most adept description
either way, thanks

her brother did

a welcome sigh of relief  from stillwater am guessing;D

Sorry I didn't seek permission b4 rushing in. It's us that I felt your work like I feel my skin and,

pls dont be nanaboi,
i feel honored

oreshade thanks for the compliments
but the moment i start restricting myself to rhymes,
illd stop writing
the joy i derive from writing is because i am free to do as my pen wishes

_{. . . not a "rhymer"/poet}


Angelic she,
Devilish me,
Who would have thought
the same womb brought us forth.
"We could have  been good together,
this incestous love binding us forever.
But you left me no choice,
my benevolent Joyce,
than to leave of you
a pallor of bluish hue."

I'm sad because I'm not a rhymer/poet. It's difficult 

ahhhh i understand u stillwater
errr rotimy,
she is dead

thanks

lol
comparing this with a shakespearean work is pushing the limit a whole lot

but thanks all the same

I love this poem, bluespice. you are very good.
and very imaginative.

I wish I could plot her death like u challenged.

hmmn, but u said 'No secular weapon' 

good
but she died by bleeding out of her neck. . .
fall would shatter her skull hence leaving a gory sight not the perfect beauty in death we want. .  .
try again pls im loving your thought flow

Err. . How's this?
There he stood,
Far,yet as near as he possibly could.
He hid betwixt the vines and the trees,
Her blood on his breeches.

There she had betrayed him,
There he had seen fit to deem,
That she be punished,
And he fate had furnished,
A golden opportunity,
To silence her for eternity.

How his heart beat with anger,
How her betrayal had cut him like a dagger,
There she had kissed another's lips,
There she had touched another's cheeks,
Uttered words of love,
Sullied herself with another's touch.
He had protected her,
And yet she'd whored for another,
How he had loved her.

So for the first time he'd shown himself.
She looked at him in fear,
But by then he was too far gone to care.
She was beautiful . . .
So beautiful.
Her pale cherry lips parted slightly,
She gasped softly.
Straining against her bodice,her chest rose and fell.
His heart swelled.
So f

wowzah!
now that i absolutely like

I was working on it. Back to the poem
'He pulled her close,
Let down her hair.
It tumbled down swiftly,
Cascading curls of auburn beauty.
She was pure,clean,
Or at least she used to be.
She was his,
He loved her,and yet he hated her still.
She was tainted,
Breathing in her essence,he hesitated.
But not for long,
And as fluidly as a song,
He'd thrust the crude flint knife,
And in that moment,he took her life.
He lay her on his thighs,
his ire satisfied,
And lay her on a bed of flowers,
And kissed her lips much like a lover.
She he'd saved,
And he left her on her leafy grave.
He
She was his.