The performers dance about,
decaying black roses fall around them.
The maiden begins her soft tune,
a tune of melancholy.
The dancers dance with their grace,
as the maiden sings.
Their movements some how
seem to be filled with sorrow,
and a sense of malicious intent.
The pianist plays amongst the chaos,
his part just as important as all the others.
His cunning fingers move with percise,
and passionate steps.
The maiden continues to sing,
telling the story of a man and a woman,
and their imperfections.
The man's story made him out to be the angel,
and his lover to be the fallen one.
In his tell, she stole into the night,
and raped men of their lust.
Then she left them satiated,
for at least another night.
The woman's tell was much the same,
her beloved went on his "buisness trips",
and conducted buisness with madams.
Work was steady for him,
and he enjoyed it.
Both stories were true,
but both was guilty of adultary.
One blamed the other,
and the other blamed the one.
That's how these things usually go.
As the maiden sings though,
she puts feeling in their stories.
Sorrow and anguish feel the atmosphere.
Twas a cliché story turned epic.
As the stories of the criminals came to a close,
everyone in the audience was captivated,
captivated by the emotion
they beheld this night.
Never had they thought they would enjoy it so,
since this is how these things usually go.
Closure brought an uproar of applause,
the dancers, and the pianist took their leave,
but the woman stayed behind.
Tears wet her cheeks,
as she thought of her imperfections.
Finally as she regained reality,
she fled from the stage.
She stole out into the night,
and never was seen again.
Only rumors passed amongst the men,
as the they drank at their taverns
whispered of her life,
and of her story.
As for the man,
he continued to conduct his buisness,
and captivated another permanent beauty.
But still had his side jobs here and there.
Neither man nor woman never changed,
their stories always remained the same.
Adultary was their profession,
neither felt love for another.
Thus their stories end in tragedy,
they died alone and in the dark.
Without love or care,
but their stories still live on today.
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Submission Name: The Cliche Story of Lovers
