An orchid whisper,
Pale lilac buds sprouting out of the dirt
Sweet Emily nestles her fingers between the satiny petals
A lilac sachet hangs from our Emily's fingers, pressed flowers with browning edges are hidden inside,
Small animal eggshells,
And a crow's skull still splattered with blood
Our sweet Emily's little secret.
Blue hyacinths crowd her garden, the colour blue is everywhere
It is woven into the king's robes and ribs,
His blood runs blue in his veins
Crushed velvet red, the dark crimson of blood
Beads up on his chest
Spills out onto the marble floors
It is beautiful, glistening against the white.
Emily cannot find her way out of the blue
It follows her everywhere she goes
It's inside her brain now
Dark clouds and purple lightning roll onto the pink mess inside her skull
Powerful purple
And the king's once powerful blue
That turned red,
That turned dead.
Sweet Emily, we leave blue hyacinths and orchids
Atop her grey grave, an angel is carved into the stone
It has Emily's gentle smile upon her face.
Rain beats down on the angel curled up upon her grave,
Small animals enjoy the acidity as the rain beads up on their fur
The acid burns through their skin, the pain is almost blissful,
Though sweet Emily would tremble at the sight.
The beauteous cycle of life and death,
As the flesh of animals decompose
New life sprouts, dirt encompasses the ivory bones,
And a fragile bud comes to life.
An emerald jewel nestled in the folds of brown,
Remember when it was almost second nature
Of ours admire things such as this?
Emily does.
She dreams and wonders, cold and pale in her grave.
Sweet Emily herself is nestled between satin folds,
A holy offering indeed.
She sprouts wings made from light
And soars above the rest,
An angel, she most certainly is,
Our lovely Emily.
