By Angelus

The moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait,
Soft winds whisper the bidding of trees
As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart
And the midnightmare trampling of dreams.
But oh, no tears please,
Fear and pain may accompany death,
But it is desire that sheperds its certainty,
As we shall see...

She was divinity's creature
That kissed in cold mirrors,
A queen of snow,
Far beyond compare,
Lips attuned to symmetry sought her everywhere.
Dark-liqoured eyes,
An Arabian nightmare...

She shone in watercolours of my pond-life as pearl,
Until those who couldn't have her cut her free of this world
That fateful Eve
When the trees stank of sunset and camphour,
The lantern chased phantoms and threw
An inqusitive glance, like the shadows they cast
On my love picking rue by the light of the moon.

Putting reason to flight or to death as their way
They crept through woods mesmerized
By the taffetta lay of her hips that held sway
Over all they surveyed
Save a mist on the rse, a deadly blessing to hide
Her ghost in the fog
They raped and left (five men of God)
Her ghost in the fog.

Dawn discovered her there, beneath the cedar's stare,
Silk dress torn, her raven hair
Shorn and gone, her beauty bared,
Was starred with frost, I knew her lost,
I wept till tears crept back to prayer.

Swore me vows in fragrant blood:
"Never to part,
Lest jealous Heaven stole our hearts."

Then this I screamed:
"Come back to me for
I was born in love with thee
So why should fate stand in between?"