Tecelã de Sonhos - Poesia D'água

I. MEMENTO MORI

aloud the tale of the phantom is told
she who's soul vagues along tombstones
in ancient cathedrals and golden ruins,
below the dark mild sky
and restless trees,
where the chorus prayed with tired voices.

as roses become to wilt her life faltered
petal by petal she went away
oblivion waited her in speckled dreams,
in fragments of voices
and long roads in infernal lands
whom dante walked upon - and found himself not alone.

oh, so forgotten the carnival of souls
and deathly be the Spring bridal's heart
whose path is now devious
and soul not light as feather
nor clear as water
but of milk mistful.

bridal shadow who walked beside the phantom,
carrying carnations on her womb.
wearing nothing but green wreaths
and their naked bleeding hearts,
for truth should not be hidden away, no more,
but visible on the flesh
as snowflakes
and tender white flocks.

the path is never finished
nor is the soul desire for wander
as is the lust for praising nature's core
never satiable
and delirious is the hungry slumber.

red tinted is the lips of honeyvoiced maiden
whose mouth drank from pomegranate juice - the mellow liquid of life.
O how lucky the phantom
being loved by the divine one
and loving the immortal maiden
whose eyes gleam with love.

to frolic on sky's garden
among all that is sacred
including the corpses of friends
of once she lived to have
and dear maiden
whose feet run bare
on the fertile grass
among dried leafs
of late dying autumn.

when dusk hits the sky
the hour is sacred
when sun rays became silver
the moon smiles at this earth
and sings to the phantoms below
memento mori whispered her
- a reminder of mortality
"you lived once long ago
and even so, you die a thousand times more, always by nighttime; you are gone."

requiem of winter comes from north
as a reminder that you still walk this earth,
mortal as once you were born
and nothing immortal truly is
only ambered death - the maiden you hold hands with, see
the virginal bride you kiss upon the brow
the maiden whom holds you heart gently,
who weaves the threads of your destiny -  slowly, carefully, lovingly.
she is the one who swallows you in gentle death,
the one you lie under warm blankets
and dream of, even dead.

she whose soul dances among flames and shadows
and rises only at evening
for death can only be seen at night
by day she holds the phantom's face
with her tired hands
and dearly kisses her on the lips.