Pretty Little Graves

She stood in a row of pretty little graves.
Her family and village that couldn't be saved.
Counting the headstones.
Reciting their names in her head.
All of the names of those who were all dead.
A story of all that must be told.
A reputation and a legacy that she must uphold.

Above her head there laid a golden crown.
It stayed in place as she bowed her head down.
Her ivory lace dress flowed in the wind.
Her pretty black wings allowed her to ascend.
Up in the air, her wings flapped and bells chimed.
She closed her eyes and made up her mind.
She married a prince, a love that was forbidden.
Sent to a jail in heaven, broken, and grief stricken.

She hovered over the pretty little graves.
Her entire village, six feet under ground.
Above her head, there floated a black halo.
It stayed in place as a scream was the only sound.
A curse, a prophecy, and a target on her back.
She made up her mind on a plan to attack.
A fallen angel who once had it all.
She ripped out her grace and took a big fall.

On top of a broken castle, her icy blue eyes looked down.
Her memory missing pieces that couldn't be found.
She eyes glanced across her lost kingdom.
Her home where she was no longer welcome.

Pretty little graves.
All in a row.
Her loved ones with secrets buried below.

Counting the headstones.
Reciting their names in her head.
They were all where they should be.
Except for one who was not dead.
A old Irish meadow with pretty little graves.
She was Lucky, an angel, with people to save.