by Oliviu Crâznic
The eventide descending, I get your invitation
And leave behind my manor, preparing for your games;
I’m passing through the gate, of gold and hawthorn flowers –
A few attend the party, but we are heavy names.
Drinking the wine with absinthe, and listening your music,
My iron heart is failing, while I await my dance;
A single light is glowing, that single light is yours –
They say I can’t survive you, but I will take the chance.
So in my arms I have you, sweet prisoner of pleasure,
The door I am securing, and charmful music fades;
You’re sobbing in my ear, and words of lust we mutter –
While I prepare your body, you may prepare your blades.
No shield your fine array, as fervor is your weapon…
When waves of passion flood us, we’re both losing our heads…
Your soul explodes in wonders and Eden’s getting near…
Black is the blood I’m bleeding, and darkness becomes red…
When all is over, my lips caress your shoulders…
Your liquid eyes are speaking of love and of regret…
“You can’t see me again… Another night will kill you…”
“Then let Thanatos have me… and welcomed be my Death!…”
And beautiful she is, my sweetheart fallen angel…
And naked her perfection, telling the tale of sin…
Kissing her luscious lips, I hear her begging: “Leave me!…”
“At least we’ll die together!…” – “But then the Dark will win!…”
I contemplate her hair, golden dream on the pillow,
And follow her alluring, enticing sweet delights,
I promise to myself: by her side I am staying…
“I have my dagger ready… The first to enter, dies!…”
But they are many, and Destiny has chosen…
Suddenly in the forest, I’m limping on the stones…
Crying my rage to heavens, cause she decides to save me!…
The feeling I’m not worthy is entering my bones!…
In vain I tried for years, to find again her castle…
I followed all the stories, about the girl who fell…
But only weeds and ruins were growing on those places,
Where learning about marvels, I had to enter Hell…
This is, my dear friend, dark story of Helenna,
The goddess of desire, trapped in her passion’s den…
Yet in the bed of ardors, her heart is beating pure –
Someday someone will save her, but I’ll be dead by then…
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