In a world cloaked in shadows, under the crescent's light,
Lived the Lady of Sorrows, dressed in midnight's might.
Her name whispered softly, as if a delicate, sacred spell,
A bearer of deep solitudes, in which her heart did dwell.
Yet, do not be mistaken by the moniker she bore,
For within her chest, a beacon of warmth she stored.
A resilience unwavering, a spirit unbowed by night,
The Lady sought the morrow, yearning for the light.
Her style was Death, but not as one would presume,
Not an end, but a passage, from life's womb to tomb.
A friend to the departed, guiding them with gentle care,
Her embrace a tender mercy, a solace rare.
But who did the Lady of Sorrows wish to be,
Beyond the veils of mourning, and shadows’ decree?
She dreamt of being a melody, soft and clear,
A song of hope and love, for all to hear.
She longed to dance in sunlight, not just twilight’s embrace,
To laugh with joy unfettered, in the morning’s grace.
The Lady desired to love, not just to mourn,
To be a soul reborn, with each new dawn.
Her journey through sorrow, a path to something more,
A quest to find the bliss, that her heart did sorely implore.
In her, a fervent wish, to shed the title she had worn,
To be known not for her sadness, but for the joy she could adorn.
And so, the Lady of Sorrows, in her quest did find,
The beauty in her trials, and the strength entwined.
Her sorrows, once a shroud, now her power’s source,
In her darkest nights, she found her light's course.
Friends gathered near, drawn to her luminous heart,
In her, they found a haven, a vital part.
They saw not just the sorrow, but the love she did impart,
The Lady of their lives, a masterpiece of art.
The tale of the Lady, whose style was Death,
Is a testament to life, with every breath.
For in her story, we find a truth sublime,
In our deepest sorrows, there's a melody in time.
She became her dream, a beacon so bright,
The Lady of Joy, in sorrow’s despite.
Her story, a reminder, in our darkest night,
There lies a dawn within, ready to ignite.