The Viper
Lace weaves around her limbs
like a Black Widow’s web.
A serpent in the grass...
She watches the funeral procession pass
from the church window.
She uses hundreds like tissues.
Gold falls from her eyes.
They are truly fake tears
cascading like an avalanche
so no one catches her charade.
When the daughter lands it big,
she becomes a banshee, shrieking.
The viper coils tight,
getting ready for a fight.
Money makes people see red for green.
This poem is about:
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: