Two nights ago you rose at dusk -
a sailor, drowned in feral gales
in seas unknown, his pallid visage
glimpsed through cloudy, pearl-flecked sails.
Subtle metamorphoses -
changing roles on heaven's stage,
you glowed with incandescent
glamour - lamplight and Lili Marlene.
Later, Swan-Tsarevna's gaze
sought solace in the sombre lake;
Ophelia floated, strewn with stars -
insomnia's long-lost repose.
Last night, Selene bared her face,
glowing within ivory gates;
Endymion, on Morpheus' breast,
dreaming the goddess's caress.
Tomorrow, you'll appear bereft -
you'll wear the mask that I have kept
for when the carnival is over
and the songs are all of death...
Diva-Luna
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103102200168
Свидетельство о публикации №103102200168
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