I saw her once, twice, perhaps;
a shadowed wraith in darkness kept.
Her skin was pale, as white as light,
from that same moon that lit my home,
by sleepless nights, remembered.
Her hair it pooled, in flowing black,
liquid umbral folds, glistening.
Her lips shone red as blood,
and flowed with unknown passion.
Before such beauty, what is man?
Puppet to a silent will? Charisma?
Slave to his desires, those secret fires,
that burn to consume, as all flames do.
I touched her, felt the cold skin,
against my palm and shivered,
shuddered at her icy beauty,
a queen of shadows, sat now,
upon a frozen throne...
I bowed my head.
And in my fractured sleep,
I kissed her, I know not how oft,
or few...My vision fading, cracked,
collapsed...Perhaps then, I am fooled.
Frighted by false fire, I weep;
alone in my own suffering,
I wonder, wander, still for memories,
never ceasing in my sorrow for my lost love.
I fell into fantasy, fooled, decieved,
crushed beneath the weight of ages,
I am nothing...