Listening to: the Wind's Wrath.
Reading: what the hand of Fate erased.
Watching: time fading away
Playing: with the Devil.
Out of the ashes you made of her
she will rise once more
wingless and stronger
when she falls.
Out of the tears you ripped away,
a purified fluid
to foment the untamed Thirst.
A web was woven.
With elegance far from spidery;
that web has now become a Rosary,
for her to crumble and consume
when the Plague turns a deeper shade of Scarlet.
You have painted upon her canvas,
the brush mastery left
to your laws and judgement,
but the colours will be obfuscated
so that you may never recognize your work
She chose a grave:
the one you sculpted
with hands,and years..
and now she's offering all her gratefulness:
placed beside your head,on her opal plate.