Eglantine

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Eglantine

Eglantine, sweetbriar of the midnight graveyard,
rises with the full moon from her earthly bed
to entangle the wistful watchers in her wiles,
her intoxicating scent, so rich and heady
in their nostrils, all resistance overcome,
drawn as moths to her infernal light they stumble,
souls absorbed in the endless drama of her story.
Poor Billy Jenkins, caught forever by the brambles,
held by thorns and hooks of the wild rose,
pleads on bended knee for mercy, rapt in awe
and innocent of the betrayal accusation,
but willing, in his soul-destroyed devotion,
to pay the price if she grant him absolution.
And she, adamant in her bile and rage,
lifts the blade to caress his cheek, savouring
the taste of vengeance, his abject adoration,
gazes now and for evermore upon his once-loved
features, slides the cleaver down and down
and cuts his throat.

His blood stains pink the white blossom of her beauty.

Thus on moonlit nights their sentence
to haunt the graveyard with their tale,
enacting over and ever the dreadful cost
of passions dark and overreaching.


Line Count: 24
Free Verse
For Dark Dreamscapes Poetry Contest, October 2020 Week 2
Prompt: As per illustration.