Widows Will Weep

Supple vanity an ego's reign
Ample profanity's tepid retort
Falsified mirrors without stain
Of undead flesh in livelihood's abort
      So simple to bedazzle clay-men
      How easily to hold their trust
      Crushing fragile lives at day's end
      Into pulsing jugular fangs thrust
            Crumpled flowers gathering dust...

Voluptuous calamnity's regal disdain
On sumptuous humanity's screaming terror
Mummified emotions to mercy; bane
Untried hush to stalking error
      Vast delight when dinner writhes
      Always so delicious; their trembles
      Mewling, flushed, begging for their lives
      Stirring transformation when life disassembles
            Soon rotting husks her toys will resemble...

Incredulously she realizes existence lacks
A being to chortle at her humor
She who made her no longer intact
Shrieking loudest of all; flames consumed her
      All her perfections viewed by none
      She who is esential in culling the sheep
      Could somewhere there be just one? 
      Or was this trickery of imagionings deep?
            Until which time, prey's widows will weep...