I mourn
for the life which died
leaving
me with only the shadows of loneliness
and
despair
As
i lay here, in the dark, my bed is warmed
only
by my own lukewarm soul
And
yet I see her
the
vision of Aphrodite, herself
Her
hair aglow with the sorrowful, luminescent
light
of midnight
Is
she mearly a figment of my tortured imagination
- a
figurine, a porcelain doll
representing
the embodiment of pain,
of
the pity which I feel for myself?
Nay,
she is love and compassion and all the things angelic,
sent
to me from the Gods I question, to lead me to the gates
of
the Heaven I deny
Nay,
she is but a dream
only
a dream