This Love

This love – how tragically bittersweet it is… A dance macabre, performed on fallen angel wings; It is a gliding duet of two lost souls, Spiralling together into ethereal self destruction – In a doomed embrace, on a breath of acrid smoke They tumble down and down and down… Into the bottomless gloom, Into the flames of the inferno – Into death This love – how transcendent, how delusional, The broken halves of two hearts, Straining to form a whole… Two hands, flailing in the dark, Seeking a warm and consoling palm… Two mouths, open, gasping – Striving for a last doomed kiss, For the breath of sweet corrupted life… This love – how misleading, how misunderstood They have fooled themselves perhaps; Only time will tell, if it is all just an elaborate lie Or the truth, etched in track-marked veins And the blood tears of a young girl’s battered heart And only time will tell if love will bear them up, Out of the graves they have dug, Or if they will pick up their shovels, Wipe their haggard brows, and dig deeper… Deeper, into the impassive corpse-cold earth This love – how much potential it holds, for death, Or for a better life than before; A life of fresh rose petals and tickles on a river bank Bathed in afternoon sun… A life of shared woes, of ecstatic highs, of rebirth… And how much potential it holds, too, for carnage, and for cowardice… Oh how will it end, my dear? Will it all come crashing down, now, On this grim grey afternoon – Will the tenuous tie between them break, and if so, Who will take the fall? Who will tumble into death first? And vanish into the dark abyss? That is the question that stands, a bleak executioner, Over those two broken hearts And the answer will come soon now, In a matter of moments, as the sun sets and a blood moon rises And the sands of time ebb away… Oh it is a cold and bittersweet day…