Trees have dropped their leaves. Clouds their waters. Everything gave what it had to give. Every being lost all it had. Except for its pain.
The same goes for me. I have lost every bit of light that ever was in my life. Only darkness is left.
All this burden is killing me. I have to hide my face even from myself. One false step and I would finally be with you.
It has been so long … so long … Distance is covering your way. You seem so far away that I can hardly catch your image. Tears are covering your memory. All your pictures have long ago drowned in my tears. All that beauty was killing me. It tore me apart to know that all you beauty will never grace this earth again. He took you away from me. But I will make sure he pays before I come to you.
Oh, do you care I still feel for you? My love for you is the part of me that will die last. I tried to forget you. To think about you is to think about your loss. I’m so aware that what should be lost is there … so close … while what should be there is lost…
I fear … no, I know I will never find anyone again. No one could ever be like you. Losing you was more than I thought I could stand. And yet I know that my greatest pain is yet to come. It will be the moment someone else kills him. My greatest fear is that I might never avenge you.
You will forever be lost in the dark. Would we find each other in the darkness? I am sure of it.
I would find you anywhere, my long lost Love …
I am living in a Planet Hell. My only hope is that at least you are safely away from this world … in a dream … a timeless domain.
You were not the only one he took from me. There was yet another one. A child … dreamy-eyed, mother’s mirror. The only one who could match your beauty. Her father’s pride. All gone. I am left behind.
Oh, how I wish I could come to you. But I could not leave this world without seeing him defeated. I am convinced that he will fall. And on that day, I want to spit on him and whisper your name.
Before that can happen, I have to hide among those that call themselves his servants. My soul will foul even further.
If only I could feel the rain once more, falling onto my face, falling inside me, washing me. Cleaning all that I have become. But that will never be. I shall never be clean again.
My home, my heart is far away, but the rest, it lies so close. All this pain. All this cruelty. No love left to die for.
One day I will be with you, my long lost Love. One day, we will be reunited beneath the black rose. The black rose that is carven into innocently white stone.
You once told me I had the eyes of a wolf, wild and strong and tameless. A beautiful beast.
Search them now and try to find the beauty of the beast. You will find the beauty gone and the beast changed into a monster.
A monster that is fighting an enemy. A cunning monster. Each of my plans has to be a masterpiece. Each as carefully composed as a song, as virtuously structured as a poem. And I am the best songwriter and poet on this cruel stage. Some might play louder. My creations reach the soul.
But how hard they are to find! All of my songs can only be composed of the greatest of pains. This pain I feel, I feel it every second of every day, ripping me apart. Every single verse can only be born of the greatest of wishes.
And there never was a wish greater than my longing to finally know you to be avenged.
I only wish we had one more night to live.
I would do anything to achieve my aim. I would accept any ally. And I found the greatest ally I could have hoped for. He was a saint. He blessed me, drank me deeply. He spat out the misery in me. I felt that at his side, I could peacefully wait for his downfall.
But still one single sinner rapes a thousand saints. He died, my saint, my saviour. Died from my own hands. Had I not done it, others would have, and they would have been less merciful. This is what I tell myself to keep me sane.
They are all sharing the same hell with me. For hell it must be to them. I can see how they shudder when they think of him. I can sense their fear when they speak of him. They know what a beast he is.
Yet sometimes I think these men made the sanest choice in this insane world: They beware the beast, they know of its dangers, and yet they enjoy the horrible feast he offers. They bath in blood and misery and think that it is power. They drink death and horror and believe themselves to be great.
What they do not see is that none of us matters. Not a single one.
I know I called myself the greatest poet in this play. I know that I am. But yet I am just a puppet in this silent stage show, in which the screams of the fallen have become so loud that you cannot hear them anymore.
I am a poet who failed his best play. I let my ally, my saviour die. And I let you die.
I am a dead boy who failed to write an ending to each of his poems. None of my plans has yet been perfect. The ending to my poem will be written by the lightening.
Oh, sweet Christabel, I wish I could share your poem, for with you I truly wish to be.