The Legend of the Flower of Woe

This I know, 
There is one who captures me,
For an age I stared at the heart of the moon,
Rise and fall,
Rise and fall!

I close my eyes,
I wish for freedom,
When I open my eyes,
I found myself asleep. 

The emptiness of my eyes, 
The memory of moonlight whispering seductively.
Worlds away, worlds away, worlds away.

Trying to forget I looked in the heart of each perfect star,
each so full of myriad wonders of their own.
But in the night one cannot deny her, 
there can be no shadows without her defining light.
My life became a dream as it sank into the void
of the fantasy I constructed from her intangible attributes,
from which I awoke, I had to again learn to see.

She is cold, 
she does not have the power to sustain my life, 
upon her I would die. 

Love non absolute love. 
Love imperfect love. 
Love non absolute love. 
Love imperfect love. 

An inner closeness,
a mutual respect,
the power of trust. 
The thunder of laughter,
shared words,
we are the same,
we are so different.

I dared not
look at her,
speak to her,
but I did.

I dared not
look at her,
speak to her,
but I did. 

Fact's a fact, 
man was not meant for the moon, 
this one fear, 
it was like an open wound. 

We are so close, 
the distance between us is a kiss, 
a kiss that does not exist, 
a soft gentle petal flying on the wild wings of the wind. 

A single petal from the violent grace
of the flower of woe. 

May we all vomit at the stench of its perfume.