She stands at the altar, unpolished, unabashed
Her silky brown hair curled to perfection like chocolate molded into glass
Her green eyes saw nothing but the two candles that represented the promises she would make
Through sickness and in health
For better and for worse
She smiled when she heard me come, but never broke her gaze
Her long wedding gown slowly turned brown, into decay
As she stood there for days
And days and days and days and days
Waiting for a groom that never came
YOU ARE READING
Tea for Teardrops
PoetryMadness is where the teardrops are. And tea is where the madness is.
