No Femme Fatale

Sitting in a corner glass in hand
She sips ruby red full bodied wine.
Carefully made up to hide the years
To hide the sorrow and the tears.
The scarlet lip and deep kohled eye
Hair arranged and skilfully dyed.
She waits to be saved.
Saved from life.
Saved from herself,
But no saviour comes.
Just a succession of one night stands.
Her soul so cheaply bought
Was dearly sold.
She had such dreams a life fulfilled
But all hope of this now stilled
And in her heart she truly knows
That winter come and she is cold.

Copyright P H Brookes 2012.

poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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