Flame

There once was a widow, 80 years of age.

She wore a velveteen crimson gown,

through her walks deep into town.

Stopping at each house, store, and place of worship,

she blessed the many families, flocks, and merchants.

In return, the town offered her a step inside their homes, a free biscuit or tea, or a fervorous blessing as a fee.

But she denied all the thanks, and responded, "it is my duty to bless, but not to be blessed, you see."

She holds a cunning past in her eyes,

one filled with grief and terrible cries,

To her, it was simply a fiendish game,

One she began on the night she saw her other flame.

Long before, a lady in a rosy red frock

Stumbled upon a fair man during a midnight walk.

His golden hair and smile capturing her gaze,

She drew a sharp breath in,

as her heart tumbled with the wind.

Now, her mind in a dream-like haze,

She fell in love with him, and him the same.

They hoped to intertwine their souls,

through a wedding to make them one and whole,

The gold and ruby threads of his suit and her dress,

were crafted to perfection and neatly pressed.

This was done to show their binding unity and commitment.

But, unbeknownst of both, they soon were to be drenched in only a blood-red pigment.

The night before the special day arrives,

The lady, wearing a silky blush nightgown,

leans against a grave in the place of dead lives.

With her heart finally full of love rather than ache,

she sheds a tear at her mother's wake.

Moments later, as she collects herself to turn back home,

she runs into a man with locks as red as her own.

He wears a mischievous grin, as she is taken aback.

He whispers, "My lady, you should really watch your back."

Laughing softly, entrapping her with his voice,

The lady's eyes drew towards his as if she had no choice,

she apologizes, yet he doesn't let her go,

holding her gently as her heart and mind melted like snow.

She feels the fire burning through his touch,

Her mind understanding his words without any of such,

Opening her eyes, not remembering when they were shut,

She sees nothing but a flaming tree of chestnut.

The day of, unable to rid her mind of the man of red,

She got dressed in silence with the one she was to wed.

As an afterthought, she mindlessly whispered to her fiance,

"You should really watch your back, today,"

Feeling the searing fire in her veins, she fell onto him

With a dagger in hand and smile so grim.

Tales of that day were hushed to see no light,

But to the lady, one she would not rewrite.

To the rest, she became known as a widow,

But that was only because she told them so.

The lady, once 20, having experienced nothing but grief,

Wore only the deepest of reds having turned over a new leaf.

For the next 60 years, with a blaze in her eyes,

She tortured many, to simply hear their cries.

At 80, she moved to another town,

For she needed new subjects to be around.

Retiring tragedy, she wore a broken smile,

Tending to others, as if they were worth her while

Now, she is 90 and a widow in scarlet,

Living quietly as redemption was never her target.

Only a decade more to go,

To reach a century years old.

She blesses now,

For when death takes her vow,

The lady, alone, will reign in hell,

Alongside her flame, the Devil and his spell