such perfect death

the tulip raised
her bloodied lilting head
to rest in the outstretched palm
of the hero, now fallen as martyr
lying wasted
in fields of sweet grass

armor as warrior
     heart of lover

and she, eye of God, heavens palette
a solitary tulip
closed her own eyes in solace

peaceful as the slain lover
masked as warrior

and wept for them both
as her lover wept in suffering
for his beloved

both to sleep
an eternal rest
of princes and kings
not as two
but a most perfect union
below skies of cerulean

and with last breath
her diaphragm ceased
her head, comforted in the crook
of the fleshy part
of the palm of her lover

she spent her last moment
on Earth
smiling

in peace

such perfect death.

© Susan Marie December 16, 2010

For a warrior whom is a lover and Muharram and Karbala.