Memory: Where the Dead Remain Alive

Her name hailed from Irish saints, established by God The sun was her maid, its' flames A reflection of her beauty Besotted Poseidon took refuge in her eyes When Caesar gazed at her smile, he refused to cast the die Her will toppled empires and erected kingdoms Words lost meaning by her touch For it possessed its own language Now only silence remains; unable to hear her touch The blight within having destroyed what she once embodied Now imagination is all that gives life to the caress of her lips Dreams, the only way I can feel her warmth beside me Though she fades in graves of dirt Her enchantment shall be made immortal In the confines of my memories.