Only a Fragment of the Story

I remember the white she wore

As her hands lay coldly across her chest.

Beneath the make-up, her mask of death

The story had been clear to those

Who took the time to read

The words beaten upon her face.

A victim of a terrible crime

Mourned by family, by friends

As they are left

Grasping at memories

Before they eventually fade.


People whisper venomous words

Judging the victim as though

They knew her story

From the beginning to the end

Yet all they had was a headline

And as story passed through

A tangled grapevine.


~ Greywatcher




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