BOCHIM Lysander Blue smoke flees away through the mists of Avalon it cannot be followed by the bravest they will be lost forever once they have gone too far to be ever found, even by the wisest But her hair was black as shadows in the night I saw blood that split second I dared to come near and as if was it a cheek, porcelain white glide from her scarlet lips slow like a tear Her eyes were hell-green and made me blind I tried to catch her, tried to remember but her name slipped away in my mind grab her waist was all – could I have saved her The smell of weakness came along with the moonless night the chilled air she breathed heavenly, broke when she said – and oh, I had never heard before this sight this words, this language she spoke "Once in the Dark Forest raised by monsters by the fishes in the depth of the lake known not the West-Side, but on the Puszta by the wild tigers on the East-Side, where this immortal existence has never shown" A phantasm, she was, and a genius but nameless a trapped angel, like a charmed creature she could not fly through the lightened darkness but her dance in the rain of flowers faded with nature With lost shades and forgotten dreams with myths and legends on the Olympia as poison unique sweet, as juice it seems but from the fossilized lips of Giulietta Like pain from a tongue filled with cold ash but in flames I tried to transform the fangs and fears into wings, still lonely and a drunken foul could, only I lay no given names there was no escape behind the scarlet air, only fallen blue misery One quiet moment I could hear a sound in the air the beating hearts of three birds so beautiful beautiful birds of ill omen, before a wind blew through her hair lifted her robes, so heavy and dreadful It gave her the strength to take a lance and pierce the omens she leaned back on the lance as if it was a temple-pillar nor less harsh and violent - like the ancient Romes twisted eye of a witness made her view like a goddess Blue stars named themselves pearls of the sky the moons were vague and grey that Holy Night in the arms of the Dark Lord – could I have heard her cry cold as ice, she did gone into the light |