Flowing satin,
glimmering gems,
match her eyes,
of onyx beauty.
Lips so luscious,
pigment red,
hair so radiant,
shower of gold.
Perched on her throne,
of dark oak wood,
crown of peonies,
atop her head.
Chagrin words,
whisper deceit,
promises of pleasure,
fall from her lips.
Behind the façade,
lies a heart,
cold as ice,
dark as night.
Her jewel crust hand,
reaches out,
beckons fools,
in vain pursuit.
A tinted mirror,
they look in,
a world upside down,
insanity.
Broken dreams,
dashed promises,
hopes of wonder,
only last so long.
So when the curtain falls,
the show’s an end,
her brilliant gown,
fades to ashes.
Her crown of peonies,
wilt and shrivel,
her golden hair,
loses shine.
Yet fools who follow,
see only,
beauty.