Fire born of rapture lost,
visionary within an indigo
moon, summer of native
rhapsody; I the creature
dressed with sanities
smile, forgave the master's
call of death-
Risen from ashes
of an Autumn's
sorrow.
To be made of man's flesh
with a heart as cold as midnight's
bitter chill, labeled a menace
I run wild across the sea of
Lenore's and Poe.
Oh to die in elegance,
draped in fallen rose
petals of every lover
I never had...
Murdered for never living,
loving for never dying.
My poet master freed
these chains long ago
as crows feed upon
tears of bitter shadows.
I'm a mist in an Opera of
velvet curtains...
waiting for the final
crescendo.
Metaphorically she is me-
We have lost the night
upon a Heroines lullaby,
sleeping forever in daydreams....
