Certain poetry in past view of the world
An oeuvre beneath my talents, yet above my morals
Ceased are the days of waste for I represent myself
All extremes I endorse as I move from reticence to clamor
Betwixt those two verges, a ghost appears
And her eyes now glare in moonlight
Reflecting the passion felt once before
In the midst of crusts of snow
A sight of otherworldly glow
An argent dirk she draws from my chest
Which she hands to me
No words she speaks, no words she yearns for
The sharpened steel I grip, as I brace for a trade of blows
I, I think I feel nothing as your blade's touch
Carves a slit into my trachea
But the eyes still sway in moonlight
Reflecting the passion felt once before
In the midst of crusts of snow
A sight of otherworldly glow
Our blood blends with the silver soil
And dream of stars rewinds the hours to foregone days of ours
Forging paradigms of false
Latching weapons from my sight
Dying won't atone these deeds
For sowed are the vilest of seeds
Resting in her hand, a blade of virtue
Piercing my skin of evil, a cry, an unsought reprisal
Let us both die, the blood is painting the walls
Ardent exiles, now we both have became
Dying misfits, the pain is weighting too much
No more struggle, the dream returns:
In this chamber beneath the quilts
Hands sleep together and wait this night
Soundless winter behind the walls
Kindled are the hours in this new abode
And the eyes still glare in moonlight
Reflecting the passion I still feel now
In the midst of crusts of snow
A sight of otherworldly glow
Her figure eerie yet sublime
A spectacle to be witnessed for a lifetime