Ballad of Roma
The day was tender when they met,
their mouths were roses, warm and wet.
The earth held still, the sky leaned nigh—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Her hands were lilies, trembling, white,
his heart a torch that burned the night.
The wind bent low, the stars drew nigh—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
“O angel, I cannot breathe without you,”
he whispered into shadows’ blue.
Her silence cut, her rage was high—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Her laughter shattered like broken glass,
his smile remembered the fields they’d passed.
She turned away, the world asked why—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Beneath the willow he pressed his face,
the soil drank tears, the roots gave grace.
His body trembled, he could not lie—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
The winds that once had stroked their skin
now screamed like wolves that clawed within.
The sun went blind, the rainbow shy—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
“Roma is queen, now wed to the king,
forget the touch, forget the spring.”
The fairy whispered, soft, awry—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
His chest collapsed, a cave of fire,
his blood a river of lost desire.
He cried so loud the stones replied—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
Upon his bed of ash he lay,
a candle flickered itself away.
He dreamed her lips, her shadowed sigh—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
She came at last, her beauty whole,
her fingers thawed his freezing soul.
He kissed her name, and then he died—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
And when he fell to endless sleep,
her wail shook heavens, oceans deep.
The world grew deaf, the night replied—
yet theirs was a love already bound to die.
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