Beloved, how sad you tread into the mist of lost dreams
Beloved, how sad you tread into the mist of lost dreams,
Wandering in the cold blue, befriending the forces that are your foes.
Beloved, how sad, born of magic, a soul crowned with whirlwinds of ecstasy,
Yet you claim your fate is the dark spirit, eternal and ill-fated.
Beloved, how sad, and yet, how human,
To cling to the thinnest hope with all the strength you can muster,
Erecting an altar in memory of shadows, calling it the only one that will matter.
In the flow of your consciousness, you entwine with fleeting phantoms and illusions,
Seeking solace in the crying wind, in the rain that hurts.
But deep within your soul, you know the magic is not lost, just hidden beneath a veil,
In every step through the darkness, there is a ray of light, a corner of ideal.
Beloved, how sad to see only shadows and sharp edges in destiny,
But how human to hope, to believe in the light that secretly beckons you.
Perhaps in this magical sadness lies the answer sought,
For even in the deepest night, you have kept a glimmer of hope.
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