Powder

Resting in a soft, light pink lining,

Her face was heavily coated with powder,

Ready for the audience to look at her

One final time.

Wearing a lace dress with her hair 

Pinned back, a bow tightly tied in her

Dull locks, a light from the altar shone

On her favorite black shoes.

The people walked up, tears hitting the

Face of the little girl they knew so well.

They all noticed the shoes, looking strangely

New, almost like they had never been worn

When they knew they had been.

It was almost scary how familiar these shoes

Were to everyone. It felt like just yesterday

She was running around the edge of the dock with them,

The shiny black material allowing darkness to overshadow

Her young light.

Veiling her aura with a menacing feeling of dread,

That chained her young frame down with the weight

Of a cinderblock.

With little white frills, the socks lined her feet

That were perched up at an angle.

The shoes fit taught now, unlike how they used to be.

Almost like a bad omen, they gripped at her ankles

Like it was the last thing this little girl would ever know.