The Ballad of Rose
By: Janeth Preciado
The morning mist blurred his face, Leaving the dark trail without a trace.
One night she awaoke to an empty bed, Covered her eyes and rest her head.
She cried and cried and knelt to the ground, Asking God for his body to be found.
When she knew it wasn’t in the Lord’s plan, She decided to take matters into her own hands.
Under his pillow she fished for a weapon, Something that would teach them an unforgettable lesson.
A sharp pain is what she encountered, A wielding knife she would have to conquer.
With hate in her eyes and bitterness in her heart, The young maiden refused to fall apart.
She cut her curly auburn locks, Switched to trousers from lilac frocks.
She ran away to the busy town, Where her love had been robbed of his life.
She had been robbed of her grand white gown, Instead she was given strife.
She staggered the street as a petty bum, Waiting for her prey to arrive.
Wearing her perfume of gin and rum, For their blood she needed to survive.
Their aroma of expensive scotch and cigars intoxicated the air.
Their expensive robes and sultry cologne could not hide their blood-cold stare.
Her heart raced painfully as they walked right by, They did not pay attention.
But anybody, at first glance would have shivered at the tension.
She clutched the knife handle against her warm palm, Whispered onto the desolate abandoned sea of sky.
“Tonight is the night that they pay, my love, Tonight is the night they die”
She waited until the clock struck nine, Then the chase began.
She snuck away behind the green vines, She then acted upon her plan.
The tall skinny man with a velvet pocket square stood outside his home.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, He felt he was not alone.
She said “Remember that trail he used to walk through? Remember the morning mist?”
“Oh dear God, Rose it’s you, oh please forgive my sin”
With tears in her eyes, She plunged the rusty blade.
From the top of his back, Flowed a bloody cascade.
She took his royal blue pocket square and wiped off all the blood.
She could not bear to see his face, Her hands she washed in mud.
The short fat man sat in his office chair, She snuck in from the window.
Determined to fall out of despair.
Without a sound she stuck the knife is his chest, She looked into his eyes
Blood splattered on her breast.
She went back home, Her pale face distraught.
She put on her white gown, She gave it no thought.
She raised the silver knife, And struck it through her scarlet heart.
She lay next to an empty bed, Covered her eyes and rest her head.