Deep from the silence - filled with blood,
The cup of ever-changing season -
Enchanting liquid for the soul,
Beyond all doubt, beyond all reason.
Beyond the times of all that’s been,
An evil pulse, so far from Eden.
His is the victory, so often -
His eyes glance ghastly back to me,
His words so luring, sinful passion,
Whisper of nightmares yet to be.
Too decadent is human nature,
Too blind these eyes – too darkly...
I'd like to fight, to break from time,
From particles and to release
My soul that never has existed -
I'm dying, but the will is his.
And much too often I'm his slave,
My wings are cut, my thoughts - they cease...
© 2010 Lith Ium