The Woe Queen

Wind swept hair, obsidian eyes,
beguiling pools, a thousand lies.
Honeyed words, from caressing lips,
bloody allure, mesmeric hips.

Adorned in snow, blooming in rain,
each step taken, another's pain.
Ancient in age, a delicate primrose,
a seductress, a temptress, a Queen of all woes.

A silken dress, the cocoon of a moth,
hue of her eyes, the onyx cloth.
It moves with the rain, the breeze and snow,
an ebony stream, that continuously flows.

A drifting feather, in silence she comes,
a voice of the past, is what she's become.
The harbinger of death, the charming black widow,
an exquisite spectre, a disguised minnow.

Hypnotic gaze, a pandora's box,
to be enamored, to be mocked.
Barefoot she ventures, she walks this earth,
to avenge, revenge, an antique birth.

Not a drop reaches her, as the skies well up,
her face never seen, unless all time is up.
When the skies calm, she is not here,
but the Lady in Black will always be near.