Poezja

This is
a story of dreams so cold,


A tale
by Misery still untold,


So cold
no one dare speak,


A
lonely heart in a landscape bleak,


All he
desired was entombed in age,


Two
souls on a lonely blazed page,


He only
sinned when he loved,


Only
when he gazed into her crystal eyes,


Only
when he listened to Misery’s deception,


The
mind is restless; the clouds begin to shiver,


He
needs to survive this grey wailing winter,


He is
nothing but a dead leaf in the autumn breeze,


Why did
she steal his breath?


Rob him
of his only reason?


To such
beauty, what treason be passed?


None
for I still seek her,


She
congeals the spaces in me,


Piercing
the mind is the truth,


And the
Clown’s mask is on my face,


All I
see is shadows during spring,


Can I
be alike him,


Would
he laugh instead of sobbing on the devils lap?


No…that’s
not real – I’m not real,


Now she
needs me no more,


And the
mask is wearing off,


He and
I be one inner being,


And the
Clown was murdered by Misery,


Let’s
enjoy his funeral…