The Moor - Canto VI

I. A contorted message came with the wind's pestilent spat to the layers of a palatial mind in benighted scents attack: digging at the soil of my love's bedizen grave in the mist to uncover her bones and to her lucifugous skull I kissed; V. in necromantic speech the pleasure of death has my rose slept upon her catafalque in our absence from heaven have we wept as a maelstrom resounds my illustrious path of linage innocence portended a sublime end of debauchery in inertia's caress. IX. Veiled in grief of inept misery, pestilence swathed the breeze when the Sun conducted to rape the stanzas of my disease in the blossom of my tragedy thawed my bitter winter undone of my hell bound heart bifurcating the words of my tongue; XIII. in my arms her bones slept far beyond the grace of any deity, enshadowed with eternal life - no heaven would cease this pain's eternity. I took her bones to the lake as a traitor would carry his cross in the restlessness still plaguing the relentless sting of loss; XVII. of vehement desire for these banks screamed from my soul, for seven years puissantly dreaming of this image untold; I sat by the water with her bones, blood-drenched and unredeemed, awaiting dusk came so nostalgic, like the whisper of a dream. XXI. Should this be a working of the architects of fate secluded well, my years of fate passed away in unleashing a new born hell for I had awoken in the touch of feeling such a bitter bliss, drunk with dead memories and moments so ardently missed XXV. I buried her bones by the water, strong in will and deed that I stood proud to call out her name so that she may be freed; her cherubic wings flew her to wounds when she laid bleeding, she gave her life to be with me, gripping the sate of fate's feeding. XXIX. I watched the sunset approaching - the night called my name when the cedar tree grew restless - feeling a distinct vibe change; cold winds of the day unfurled, losing the grip of the sun, the night's talon stretched reclamation - my time had come. XXXIII. A finale of morbid romance has death knelled my dreams, falling swiftly under darkened skies, alone in autumn's freeze; I hear my love's whisper in the winds on a dead cedar tree, I see her face in ever natural feature of glee deceiving me. XXXVII. Farewell as the sun sets and flames await my soul below, but should any chastisement would compare to this Hell I know? My arteries are slit to palisade when dusk sinks the sun; the tree as my gallows - from all, I fall undone.