Remembrance of an Enchantress

Staring into the night;

no moon to be seen.

Oft would my mind return

to the phantasm that will only now burn.

 

Embers of the phantasm’s fire will never die,

kept aglow on the breath of dreams.

Dreams both maddening and lovely.

Visions of the enchantress will never die.

 

She spoke first to me in the night

through a veil of heart-breaking tears.

Those eyes that cried had woven incantations,

soft, deceiving; soft incantations in the night.

 

Henceforth would I be spellbound.
The enchantress, I would flay my soul for her.

To help her from misery’s throes.

Her need, her pain, would seal that I be spellbound.

 

Behold, a gleaming beacon she has cast,

to guide me in the world’s grey seas.

Unyielding tempests would not thwart my voyage to it,

unknowing that the sea’s rage be a spell she has cast.

 

It would be mercy to know I was alone in my fate.

Long ago, I spied many more shipwrecked on her shores.

Pleas of remorse are denied. Does she now know what she wrought?

So many more cling to the jagged stone, sharing in my fate.

 

Thus the dawn shall return, to fade from sight.

Her will is boundless; her incantations will be woven evermore.

Even now, thoughts of her adjoin fear and beauty, impossible yearning.

As the days elude still, I pray that to her, I never fade from sight.