Vanitas or, The Vow of the Shade and the Wolf-Pack to the Pale Pearl Queen
For you, I cry my sorrow howls
Into the hollow night—the voice of void.
I am but shade; the midnight wolves convene,
Naked by moonlight, rainbow-skinned, deployed.
We hunt the blood-thirsty hunt for life,
For jewels that pulse with resurrected breath;
From souls once dead we carved the precious stones,
Now living in our love, defying death.
A monumental vow we scratch in bone—
To Leilah, Pale Pearl Queen of shadow’s art,
Attilio’s dark vanitas adorns your throat:
Gold skulls, black pearls, bewitching counterpart.
Your fur, vanitas, glamorous with doom,
Electrified against the tomb’s dark bloom;
Oh Pharaoh’s sister, feral shadow cat,
Your observant eye breaks open my skin’s room.
For your necklaces divine we tore the souls
From quiet graves to serve your dark controls—
I am but memento vivere,
Remember living, while the wolf-pack howls.
Here, my feral shadow cat, my love, to pharaoh,
we are, but home, so lost to daylight, lost to bloom;
we breath, the sorrowful delight of blood red dawn,
our shades, in shapes of watchful iris, pray to none
that came, thus might have lived, but died, alone.
"Če moram izbirati med pustom ali valentinom, ni dileme😀😀😀", Katja J. B.