Ballad Of Rosebuds And Blood Poem by Agatha Eliza

it's raining from the heart of night
and sandtimer has lost the trace
of hours, minutes and seconds..

mankind is now melting in the stream
as misty circles cover the sights
of passionless desires, hate..

all ghosts turned to nocturnal queens
when the magic fullmoon is gone
of eyeless slaves, voiceless..

vivid imagination ends up slaughtered
too many beauties, and less beasts
of warm castles, cold dungeons..

reality and all dreams mean the same
they killed last reckless thought
of nightmares, of misfortune..

watch your life while everything dies
starting with lullabies and cries
of death, in peaceless grave..

follow me in the night of the dreamer
where no angels crawl in darkness
of realms, of deaf echoes..

just hear the call from the other side
as the kingdom of light fades away
of deadly gores, the storms..

unlife does not resides in old prayers
cannot be even healed by pagan gods
of burning sun, gentle moon..

rotten crown or cross are not forever
all what one leaves behind is here
of dolmens, cryptic tombs..

may the fallen ones guide you tonight
throughout struggle, the ravens fly
of despair, of eternal loss..

as rosebuds turn to archangel's tears
the stones turn to rusty temples
of madness, of fiery laughter..

far away, on the edge of the universe
bursts the last twinkle of stars
of bloodred dust, in antic urn..

destiny devours what the world means
to one; we take it as a nothing
of wonders, of quivering love..

the dagger whipes the gorgeous smile
and blood is spilt in tiny gardens
of liliacs, of wild rosebuds..

elusive thoughts and luciferian eyes
turn the last ashes into slumber
of crushing oblivion, of dread..

from blood and dust we forged our gods
we gave them strenght and offering
of sacrifice, with poisoned balm.

invisible hands dragg me to the pyre
in chains i lay in grasp of thorns
of scented bones of martyrs..

i pursued the mask of reality falling
as grey curtains after sordid plays
of endless emotions, of core..

a quill is a silent witness of strife
when purple ink pours like essence
of life, in blood drained veins..

we kill the last wonders of our times
condemning everything to silence
of closed portal of innocence..

i will no longer believe in miracles
as my spirits shatters to pieces
of final heart beat, of curse..