Whirlwind Of Stars (Self Portrait)

Pale moment of twilight
when the penny-petal drops
All is: as it will be:

just as it ever was...

What if the night was not yet over?
What if the sky rippled silver again?
What if the hour was looming closer
when angels weep and sing? What then?

And I can smell the melancholy-tender scents
of flowers failing and forlorn
The whitefire fever consumes my flesh
My spirit rejects the mortal's form

And I can see your silhouette on the horizon
looming gold against the white and slate
I'm watching your wings unfurling slowly
The calling of souls, sweet solace of fate

— sweet torment of fate.

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unauthorized reproduction prohibited