Dancing In Dead Flower Fields

I went to see her dance one day,
In the fluorescent flower fields of May.
But to my despair,
sickened grew the air,
When I strode into those fields
fiercely crying,
And saw them all dead and dying.

Her hands were red,
and stained was Her broken flower bed.
Crackling flames danced in favor,
Of the dark vampyric flavor.
Their violet and manequettes
that tore at my eyes,
to drink and feed,
On the sighs I bleed.

My fingers grasped her frail
velvet hands that chimed so pale.
And on this day,
of dead birds and bees,
The wind danced and whistled through the trees,
crucifying me with suicidal dismay.

Nevermore,
Did the crows dance for me,
nor did love-struck waves crash in my sea.
Her flower fields were killed,
by demeaning, masquerading shadows
Whom danced with knives
exhausting the wild lily lives.

On summers my heart spent,
and twisted to the lilacs She wore,
making moves with Terpsichore
and the Lily of May,
Whom always danced with unrelenting grace,
Her eyes stars not Heaven sent,
Displayed upon her blossom face,
dancing within beautiful bouquets.

A tragic tale,
When I went to see her dance that day,
In the fluorescent flower fields of May.
But it was so to my despair,
that sickened grew the air,
When I strode into those fields,
eyes a fiercely crying blur,
When I saw them all dead and dying, beside Her.