*Cosmic Mist*
Bluelighter
This is not finished. It is a first draft, and very rough... I'll post a better version sometime later...
- Misty
I
Alas! With but one short, sweet breath
Plucked from the rose-hip of time
Comes the sweet maiden with eyes full of death -
An affinity for all dead and dying.
She rises and razes her house to the ground!
She collapses and falls - ingénue!
In such terrible silence - innocuous sound,
But her eyes burn with the passion of few.
She lies on her bed of soft felt-like moss
as all that she knows slips and fades.
She closes her eyes - such opportune doss!
Her thoughts - never ugly - not allayed...
II
A child so sprung from such splayed hips,
Could she ever envisage such love -
A child, who still, from Joseph's cup sips -
She, whose hand still is gloved?
Even still, if the answer be "yes"
And this innocence be soon unmasked -
Of whose love would this child then ask?
And who then could pass such a test?
What woman or man could take all she hasn't
And turn it from pretty to fine?
What being alive could so capture her eye,
Of blood and flesh - not merely phantasm?
For now she so stands with a face full of iron -
A glare cast from the steels of such hell!
What dashing young soul, a face so withdrawn,
Could, this fortified flower, impel?
III
Such a young beauty! This waste such a crime!
She tumbles!
She falls to her knees!
Such innocent beauty lifted – sublime –
Marked by impetuous unease!
She lies; she lies still, in fiery enchantment
Insistent that none, by her lips, shall pass;
Not water, wine, nor other nourishment …
Lips dried, she breathes in her last…
- Misty
I
Alas! With but one short, sweet breath
Plucked from the rose-hip of time
Comes the sweet maiden with eyes full of death -
An affinity for all dead and dying.
She rises and razes her house to the ground!
She collapses and falls - ingénue!
In such terrible silence - innocuous sound,
But her eyes burn with the passion of few.
She lies on her bed of soft felt-like moss
as all that she knows slips and fades.
She closes her eyes - such opportune doss!
Her thoughts - never ugly - not allayed...
II
A child so sprung from such splayed hips,
Could she ever envisage such love -
A child, who still, from Joseph's cup sips -
She, whose hand still is gloved?
Even still, if the answer be "yes"
And this innocence be soon unmasked -
Of whose love would this child then ask?
And who then could pass such a test?
What woman or man could take all she hasn't
And turn it from pretty to fine?
What being alive could so capture her eye,
Of blood and flesh - not merely phantasm?
For now she so stands with a face full of iron -
A glare cast from the steels of such hell!
What dashing young soul, a face so withdrawn,
Could, this fortified flower, impel?
III
Such a young beauty! This waste such a crime!
She tumbles!
She falls to her knees!
Such innocent beauty lifted – sublime –
Marked by impetuous unease!
She lies; she lies still, in fiery enchantment
Insistent that none, by her lips, shall pass;
Not water, wine, nor other nourishment …
Lips dried, she breathes in her last…
