so slowly may words gently caress you
like leaves on the wind upon your ear
as it was on the december mourning
so very cold in abandon
she was locked away from hope
only in it she had but one

a curiousity she would never know

fore he was a poet
that crafted words around her
it was much like a druids hands
they were molding a spell
the ethereal energy she felt
upon it her neck so gently kissed
into the day words would spin
this night held forever
a silken dance would come alive
for in hours so very far away
she heard a symphonie of purple hues
the violins the sang of love
the cellos moaned in tragedy

how is is for but only one night
in a land full of passion destiny
a want for a dance
precise to the words that carried her away

within only moments after it had begun
the song would die
the angels they did drop
hot tears of miseries from above
washing her skin
staining her heart
for a moment of pleasure
she would die one-thousand sorrows

© All rights reserved (Greg Constas 1-06-10)