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