Unlaced a mist of gaze to shine by evil sprite
tangled lips twist a fearsome grin relishing
the stiffening tips of twin foes.
Locked in embrace, to the final quickening, the end of envy,
the fall of angels,
and the ever hardened rise.
A death of dream as seen, in Masaccio's
expulsion from paradise.
Yet still dewy-white defies the night,
and somewhere a rain drop falls
that once enthralled a flower
that once in Eden grew,
so long ago
and now all dreams are flesh upright
no more, they are hairs upon a comb
hairs that once graced the fair, the fairest-maiden
Lost an exquisite gem from diadem so long
yet to long to skip unclothed, but now to toil
a long dust drenched trail; a tale of mystic books
fit for Kings to read, for Priest to chant for Painter's brush
to brush a weeping damsel's tears, that mar the trickling brook.
The stream of time unwinds but
the tale is raveled still; with secrets to reveal.
Yet once was not all revealed and does not man
now stand covered?
Oh, such an evil sprite; and how this sprite relishes the fall