Philistine Ayad

Grieving Widow

The ominous cello calls out,

Slowly weeping a seductive melody,

An ancient song, crushing hope

The grass sighs; the pond ripples;

Lotus blossoms float listlessly.

Paper screen doors invite a breeze,

Through fist sized holes in once pristine doors,

Involuntarily revealing a destructive tale.

And still, the cello continues in a lazy pace,

Playing only for the solitary feminine figure.

A beautiful woman is draped in a kimono,

It hangs upon her as her mantle of depression,

Falling from her smooth shoulders,

As she dances a psychotic rhythm.

Her raven hair comes down slowly,

As her wedding ring falls to the ground.