Tortured by Illusion (a cruel sister)

Once again the heart of mine was full of Spring flowers
made of honey and palpating lights, arousing this heart
a new one to think on, too Love to give...
dried leaves fall down in this deadly Autumn of my soul


Those dried leaves art the ghosts of the flowers I expected;
conceived in an electrical storm with dark clouds, dark thoughts
lightnings seem whips starving for blood
I feed them all with the bottle of my reborn purity


Illusion made a puppet of me, moving as her will
put pictures in my mind, Love's fool imagery looked real
standing Penelope with no Odysseus to wait for, that's my  fate
my cruel sister did not warn me, my devotion is
to offer to Love itself only


I shall wait for thee, now knowing Illusion distorts
every little new hope I find on my path, unreal oases
slain by false knights' cold hearts, frozen emotions
waiting for thee, until these bones of mine become dust


~Wiccangel~(Victoria III, July 2009)©

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