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GREYSTONE MANSION

September 16, 2018

A simple life,

I was shortchanged.

It’s most invisible,

They hide themselves away.

I didn’t think to look,

I erred here.

 

She was acquitted,

What about her life.

She was a pariah,

Invited lowlifes

From the theatre scene,

Upper middle class

Living in impoverishment,

A strict father.

 

A circumstantial case,

Never any proof.

She burnt her dress,

Odd behaviour.

An animal lover

To the end,

So her will said,

Abandoned by friends,

Sister, well-wishers,

Waited on hand and foot.

 

The law books

Proclaim her innocent.

Society looks the other way,

Refuses to read.

Her life in the headlines,

The papers never forgot.

 

Her death, alone, was heralded,

The town was free

Of this figure,

Her sullied reputation.

 

Shoplifting for life,

Charge it to her father,

Her father’s now gone,

Bludgeoned to death.

The head of an axe ….

Covered in sawdust.

 

What drove her?

Her merry circle,

All better off,

No boiling water

Just to bathe,

Her strange home,

Strangely designed,

Two flats combined.

 

A name change,

Barely changed.

They weren’t fooled,

Her sister too:

A new name,

But she’s far off,

Living free

From prying eyes.

 

No one near her at church,

So she won’t return

To reclaim her soul,

She took the secret to the grave.

 

Finally, her death came,

Her sister went shortly after,

Nine days after,

She wept, then she went.

The grave holds her well,

It brings peace to all.

 

A new beginning,

An anonymous setting.

They tire of the dullness,

They preferred having her,

Someone to throw filth at,

Now, a mass exodus.

It’s all dead now,

It’s all quiet.

No more whispers,

No more rumours.

 

A packed funeral hall,

No one read her the last rites.

She went away quietly,

Into a peaceless afterlife.

There, she’ll be judged,

Again, she’ll be judged,

This time by a higher body,

The ultimate authority.

 

The actors’ guild wept her passing,

Not another soul.

A life of infamy,

She’s where we all end up,

Some prematurely,

Her father for one,

Her stepmother another,

No affection for stepmother.

 

Beaten beyond recognition,

The bodies exhumed for trial,

The skulls on full display,

The shattered skulls.

 

She said a prayer

Upon the verdict of innocent,

In her death bed,

No one listens,

No one hears,

They say she prays to the devil.

 

We’ll forever talk of her,

Childhood singsongs.

Children don’t know,

They don’t know what they say.

 

Look off into the distance,

There’s freedom.

She liked being ostracised,

She knew it was warranted.

She bore her solitude well,

Her greystone mansion held her.

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