And rue the day that I become your maestro,
oh sleek and beautiful instrument;
I will play and play with all of your strings and chords
till the sounds generated and called by your vibrant motion,
are enough to tame my beasts,
and make the angels cry...
And rue the day that I become your muse,
oh poet unknown;
I will enchant your mind with dreams you should not dream,
about places you would not go,
in a time that does not exist outside of the words
that you will use to describe it.
And Rue the day that we become lovers,
oh precious one;
For our shared visions will become and incorporate the stuff of dreams,
at once as powerful as smoke and as wispy as stone,
a paradox of belief and desire...
And rue the day that I open my eyes,
oh unattain(t)able child of sorrow;
For you'll be freed of the chains, whips, and manacles generated
by the ever devious, self-decieving, desire lacquered and latticed mind;
and I will have finally found my piece of heaven,
regardless of whether I've loved, lost, or both...
-Grayfire-
2:35
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