The dead maiden

And as the flesh is clutched for the life it cannot give,
It screams and murmurs for the cells to burst, to live.
An empty bone surrounded by frozen souls of a dead essence,
The orb is filled with a painful glow of luminescence.
They will never understand the anguish in which she thrives,
She will never understand such empty, consequent lives.
For the cross is broken,
The blood given is splashed,
For the words of comfort are outspoken.
And as the silvery snake ensares the maiden,
Her mind is poisoned, for a fake grief she hath been laden.