Her Ghost In The Fog

The moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait,
soft winds whisper the bidding of trees.
As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart,
and the Midnightmare trampling of dreams.

But oh, no tears please!
Fear and pain may accompany Death.
But it is desire that shepherds it's certainty,
as we shall see...

She was divinity's creature,
that kissed the cold mirrors.
A queen of snows!

Far beyond compare,
lips attuned to symmetry,
sought her everywhere.

Dark liqoured eyes,
an arabian nightmare!

She shone on watercolours of my pondlife as pearl!
Until those who couldn't have her cut her free of this world!
That fateful eve when the trees stank of sunset and camphor.

Their lanterns chased phantoms and threw,
an inquisitive glance, like the shadows they cast,
on my love picking rue by the light of the moon.

Putting reason to flight, or to death as their way.
They crept through woods mesmerized!
By the taffeta ley of her hips that held sway,
over all they surveyed.

Save a mist on the rise,
a deadly blessing to hide.

Her ghost in the fog!

They raped left,
five men of God!

Her ghost in the fog!

Dawn discovered her there,
beneath the cedar's stare!

Silk dress torn her raven hair,
flown to gown her beauty bared.
Was starred with frost, I knew her lost.
I wept 'til tears crept back to prayer.

She'd sworn me vows in fragrant blood:

Never to part,
lest jealous heaven stole our hearts.

Then this I screamed:

"Come back to me for,
I was born in love with thee.
So why should fate stand in between?"

And as I drowned her gentle curves,
with dreams unsaid and final words.
I espied a gleam trodden to earth,
the church bell tower key.

The village mourned her by the by,
for she'd been a witch.
Their men had longed to try.

And I broke under Christ,
seeking guilty signs,
my tortured soul on ice.

A queen of snow!
Far beyond compare,
lips attuned to symmetry,
sought her everywhere.

Trappistine eyes,
an arabian nightmare!

She was ersulie possessed of a milky white skin.
My porcelain yin, a graceful angel of sin.

And so for her, the breeze stank of sunset and camphor!
My lantern chased her phantom and blew,
their chapel ablaze and all locked in to a pain.
Best reserved for judgement that their bible construed!

Putting reason to flight, or to flame unashamed.
I swept form cries, mesmerized.
By the taffeta ley, or her hips that held sway,
over all those at bay.

Save a mist on the rise,
a final blessing to hide.

Her ghost in the fog!

And I embraced,
where lovers rot!

Her ghost in the fog!
Her ghost in the fog!