Her breath is sweet,
Like dying roses.
And orchids grown,
Within a family crypt.
Her skin, the alabaster shade
Of an early grave
And a stoic
Marble tomb.
Her love is full,
Like that of a closed casket
Of the step child
Of a vicious mother.
Her kiss soft,
Like the leaves
Of a Worm’s wood
And of loose soil.
Her life cheery
As a winter’s rain,
Or a cliff-bound obelisk,
Marking her passing.
You have profound thoughts.
Beautifully dark imagery and vivid metaphors
Thanks! A lot, well most of my poetry is more of thought vent. So they tend to have darker connotations and symbolism.