Three Myths in Terzanelle

I. The Dying Above, the galaxy gleams luminescent reflecting, cold and callous, on the sand now stained with blood, the future lost to present. She mimics statue, head bowed, upturned hand, withholding sound though tears drip from her eyes reflecting, cold and callous, on the sand. Something feels mocking in the star-filled skies as though their fire feasts on her despair withholding sound, though tears drip from her eyes and spill into the dirt like useless prayer. The dark will fade, and light will fill the east as though the fire feasts on her despair time yet progressing though her world has ceased. The planets up above still spinning on until they fade, and light will fill the east. A bitter brilliance, a heartless dawn: above the galaxy gleams luminescent the planets up above still spinning on but stained with blood, the future lost to present. II. The Dead The moon is orange, a silent glowing stone, the wind below droning a danse macbre to shake dead trees like fingers left to bone. Her throat can only make a strangled sob, that turns into a desperate choking scream, the wind below droning a danse macbre. She struggles in the current of the stream, as waters clutch her skirt and drag her deep, that turns into a desperate choking scream as Death whispers, “It’s not your time to sleep.” She screams her soul out hopeless ‘til the dawn, as waters clutch her skirt and drag her deep, the wind sings, always mocking, “They are gone.” The stream shows blood again, the light is red: She screams her soul out hopeless ‘til the dawn, grieving anew for children long since dead. The moon is orange, a silent glowing stone the stream shows blood again, the light is red, and shakes dead trees like fingers made of bone. III. Death He waits impatiently for summer’s end, for summer’s fruits to wither on the vine, for with their death, life comes to him again. Their time is not unyielding like the pine, deciduous, and waits for change of leaf, for summer’s fruits to wither on the vine, and die with them his loneliness and grief. The trees go red, then brown, and fall like Rome, deciduous, and wait for change of leaf to make a golden path to guide her home. Her smile holding warmth the world has lost the trees go red, then brown, and fall like Rome: it’s worth the price that’s paid in snow and frost. He holds her close as flowers go to seed her smile holding warmth the world has lost; when spring returns, his heart begins to bleed. He waits impatiently for summer’s end, to hold her close as flowers go to seed for with their death, life comes to him again.

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