The earth was cold. Beneath the copse
of maple trees lay, staring up, a corpse.
Her hands were bound beneath a fold
of the autumn dress she wore; all told,
she had been stabbed, then laid out on the floor.
Her hair was brushed, makeup reapplied;
there had been no rush. Her beauty defied
the death to which she’d been stolen. In fact,
“death” was only by her eyes spoken; for the act
which killed her left them cloudy, though her skin
appeared unbattered. Even her lips, half-parted, thin,
were painted red and pouty. And her dress
remained, untattered. Yet what once may have impressed
now was only the bitterest ghost of beauty ripped from life,
slipping from its host as easily as had the knife
which aided her passing. Days went by, colored leaves
turned to dust, amassing while some unknown thieves
had stolen something from the world. But beneath a copse
of trees lay someone’s little girl. Her corpse
was left for years, to animals and the elements;
till there were tears but no more evidence.
Note: This poem has a very strange dual rhyme scheme; there’s internal rhyme (very loose) and external rhyme (generally pretty strict). I really like poetry with both types of rhyme, but it’s really hard to write. This isn’t awesome, but it’s a decent foray into the idea.
