She loved a man who was never hers to keep,
mourned the loss which was never hers to weep.
She wrote love stories in her head,
ignorant of the signs from the dead.
Oh they warned her and they warned her so,
a corpse bride she came, a corpse bride she'd go.
She already gave so much of herself away,
all she could do was wait on decay.
But even that came later in the day.
She lived, oh she did, she always knew how to keep up the mask,
no glories for her to bask.
She lived like a queen, royal and proud,
head held high even under the grey of her shroud.
That day they found a new name for her,
ironically coined by the love of another.
He called her the Maiden of Ice,
constantly betrayed by the warmth in her eyes.
Never realizing how they burned for him,
he took her love and made it a hymn.
Elevated to a stature of so high,
he is finally one with the sky.
She waited patiently, six feet under,
he calls to her in the language of thunder,
and when he can't hear the muffled whisper of his name,
he simply breaks down and cries with the rain.
They met once at the horizon and a rainbow formed,
seven colors of love reformed.
The sky was illuminated by the massive Sun,
Her shadows chased away in the casket of darkness,
she knew the truth in all its snarkiness.
Vowing never to speak again, the queen of midnight fell asleep,
into the depths of a slumber so deep -
His thunder and rain failed bring her back one last time,
not even for the sake of a rhyme.
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