The Bride

She lay there, so ornate

so pristine, 

so fragile

as would a 

calm night

before a storm,

or a lover 

in the glow

of a candle light.

Like the aching 

acceptance of

a prisoner's fate,

like  a precision 

clockwork

never running late.

Like the infinite

reflections of a 

ray of light,

like remorse 

seeping into 

a perfect after-life

She lay there, so still

so beautiful

that night,

as we bid farewell

to the bride.