A Painful Tragedy.

In a village where the shadows weep, Seraphine and Thorne, their love ran deep. From childhood’s laughter to lovers’ vows, They danced beneath the moon’s soft boughs. One fateful night, the tempest raged, Thorne’s life torn on fate’s cruel page. Metal twisted, dreams undone, Seraphine’s heart, forever numb. Her canvases, once ablaze with fire, Now lay in ash, a funeral pyre. Each stroke, a tear, a silent scream, For love torn from her shattered dream. Days merged into endless night, Her world a void, devoid of light. Memories, like knives, cut deep, In sorrow’s grasp, she could not sleep. Every breath, a gasp for air, Pain, a cloak she couldn’t bear. Her soul, a barren, windswept plain, Lost in the echoes of her pain. Yet in the silence, a haunting voice, Thorne’s spirit calling, no rejoice. Her heart, a tomb where love once dwelt, Now a wasteland where darkness knelt. Though the void remains, a gaping maw, Her life, a ruin, cracked and raw. In grief’s embrace, she’s lost, undone, A phantom now, beneath the sun.