The Bride's March In The Snow Poem by Guinevere Eveleigh

The bride who walks amongst the snowfall
Is not mortal nor a marcher of deaths household
She is a soul who's lost amongst the storm
That rains and veils her as she glides with light footsteps towards an ever gone heaven
Her pale head bowed with hair turned white from all the skies cascading petals
A tear turned into a bead of crystal
Stays put on her cheek like a mole or freckle
Forever imprinted and forever a reminder of her wailing sorrow
Her trail sweeps above the path
No footsteps to follow
She's as light as a feather
Her golden heart turned into a cracked pane of ice
When long ago back over to a hundred years
She learnt of her expected bridegroom
Had ran away with a younger woman
Rage settled in that destroyed all love
She shot the dark knight
And poisoned the lover
She then set out in her lily white dress with beads of crystals adorning in patterns of a shape and sizes
Bows once perked are now so drooped
Crystals that shone are now dull as a rotting piece of wood
Clutching her bouquet of white roses that are flaked and limp
She then set out in amongst the snow storm
Lost to world
Lost to heaven
Lost to hell
A lost soul that slips in and out amongst the boundaries of the universe
So if you ever see the bride amongst the snow
Let her be
She may seem peaceful and tranquil
But deep inside an icicle has pierced her belly and has frozen her inside
Let her be
It's her misery
One day heaven may come
But until then
She glides amongst the snow