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December 7, 2009
By JakubM GOLD, Bolingbrook, Illinois
JakubM GOLD, Bolingbrook, Illinois
15 articles 6 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
reality is a perception of what we see in the minds eye,
therefore everyhting is reality,
and therefore every thing is possibility,
possibility that can be fulfilled.


He was a daemon of lustful fire,
She a daemon of unscathed ice,
Together bound by desire,
As the command of the forbidden would not suffice,

Prophesying a tale of a loss made true,
Trapped in the mind’s iron barred cells,
Sorrow begetting its own solitude,
Their soul’s occupant in love’s immortal spells,

The harp of the daemon red played distant a melody of an unquenched fire,
Its orchestrator sitting entombed on the throne of an ashen and fallen empire,
Eyeing despairingly a return to the window where upon her he could gaze,
In dark emptiness entombed singing a prose of the joining of their days,

She the ice of cold and unforgiving sorrow turned to her lunette window,
Tearfully playing out her longings on her crystal flute,
Wishing for the harp to fall into an entrancing harmony,
Only to see that their notes fell mute
So she in deep longing left her hand hanging limp on the moon,
The coldness of eternity come begging to her knees, much too soon.

Had centuries passed that would notice none,
Had not their desire been extinguished been for from faith having run,
Had they not lost hold of their grip,
Into the abyss their love would not have slipped.

To the daemon of the furious fire ever paling,
The world had come to an end,
Frayed into dust by a passion now ever waning,
Waiting for time in darkness to his soul mend.

To the daemon of the ice of heartless cold sorrow,
There was no way to go on without him,
She could not imagine the next sun kissed morrow,
If in it there wasn’t him.

In the waning ages to follow,
The birds of song silent would be,
The rapture of immortality,
As foretold the gods will catch up to thee,
In the open chest’s space a hollow,
As all can plainly as day see,
That the days of detained sorrow had come for thee.

As summer in continuum gave birth to winter,
And winter to summer forever returned,
The notes they meant to have played,
Stirred a demeanor perturbed hidden in their heart’s shallowest grave they made,

In eternities,
In centuries,
In decades,
In the towers they themselves made,
So all time they spent,
Fire and ice eternal,
Each lover trapped,
And forever singing their own lament.



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