Genur.art

The moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait Soft winds whisper the bidding of trees As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart And the mid-nightmare trampling of dreams But, oh, no tears, please Fear and pain may accompany death But it is desire that shepherds its certainty As we shall see She was divinity's creature that kissed in cold mirrors A queen of snow, far beyond compare Lips attuned to symmetry sought her everywhere Dark liquored eyes, an Arabian nightmare