Hell Hath No Furie Poem by Holly Heron

A beauty running down the hall,
Tears streaming from her cheeks,
On show and seen by one and all,
The pain from pure deceit.

And hurt by visions of her lover,
In her sisters arm,
Underneath her warming cover,
Stealing what was hers.

His dark hair tousled all around,
Eyes wide in disbelief,
His voice it's sound was icy cool,
As he spoke 'be gone from me.'

She enters her room in the dead of night,
To fetch her woolen cloak,
And holding a candle burning bright,
To light her way to death.

Running up a winding staircase,
Stone cold beneath her swift young feet,
Wind whipping round her tearful face,
Up the tower she awaits release.

Up to the window of escape,
Stars promising like angels' eyes,
Wind blowing back her cape,
Encouraging her to take her leap.

And away from her lover does she spring,
Like a viking promised valkyrie,
Her voice through her lovers mind does sing,
'hell hath no furie like women scorned.'

Seeing things no longer here,
Hearing sounds no longer heard,
Walking places no longer there,
And returning her spirit roams these halls.