Dreary mists,
skull n' bone road blocks,
like flags unfurled to
the Eastern wind,
stained with heartly foreign blood.
One pours rain,
a Vestal angel lost in her own pain,
though still alight, and in my eyes ever bright.
The other,
alas not as gorgeous a light,
but beauty to suffocate and smother.
Singing in flower fields,
a princess sipping rose wine in meals.
Day by day,
how I can't break away,
drowning in salt rivers, sick with lament,
and the souls I have spent.
So I find,
that princess on her throne,
and from the other I am blind,
A gaze like Medusa's, glazing me in stone.
Both promise love,
the flight feathered by black doves.
Yet how I find mistakes;
The angel, it is true,
but the princess, love crowns fake,
divided by lust and ridden with dust,
the treasures with sorrow I pursue.
Just dig my grave,
release the shackles on this Love slave,
and free these wings,
embedded into hearts afraid, not brave.
Watch the confusion this division brings,
that to destroy even Medieval kings.
One, angel of love,
two, princess of lust,
To drown in empty rain,
or breathe with Love unjust?
Both attire me with pain.
In sorrow I am lost,
stricken with exhaust,
Oh how these loves drive me insane!
