Thin mists rise from the dream, the lake
Only to linger further on the shore.
Murky moon shimmers along the sand,
Tracing up the maiden's raven locks.
Plays of light and shade on silk
Slender grace embraced with chill night air
I lock stars in her eyes and Eurydice sings
Only to fade the broken minor strings;
To harden the frame of mortality.
The night deepens and I kiss the dead.
My harp becomes Hades
and the lyre weeps.
No comments:
Post a Comment