I have composed many songs for you to dance to, my quill.
Too often have I asked myself why I still write.
The few who join me as I scribble onto parchment..
It does not matter my purpose, I will write all the same.
Hear the tale of Vir,
A magnificent creature
Ruler over all that he could see.
I speak of the Crystal King.
He was beautiful, exotic and enticing.
The kingdom in which he reigned was perfect.
High above the masses he sat on his throne,
With no feeling for the hearts he took.
To speak his name is to conjure his presence
Into your life, into your soul.
Vir would use his magical crystal balls and
Give to his disciples everything he had.
That is when it happened. That is when Admiratio called upon him.
His mantle worn high and the gem in his hands offering her the world.
Vir looked into her eyes and saw the galaxies.
Admiratio, he wished for her to be his gem.
He exausted himself making his world fitting for her.
He cursed her eyes for being so cruel, so inviting.
“I move the stars for no one!” He said,
“Yet I have made this world for you!”
“I can not live within you…”
Vir needed Admiratio, he needed to be more then her dreams.
She was so cruel to him, He could be cruel.
“You will be my prisoner, my sweetest love.”
Using all his magic, the Crystal King created a maze.
She was to be his and his alone!
No one would find their way to her,
Vir watched his gem from high above.
Truly I have seen a goddess on this night.
Oh how my words escape my hands,
Yet inspiration does not leave my eyes…
I pray that my eyes never see again.
As the water cascades down her slender frame
The light glistens off her all ready flawless skin.
Her hair waded against the rippling pond in which she stood,
The very moon lowered it’s glow to brighten her bath,
To embrace her with it’s tender light.
Dare I risk to move just to see her elegant face?
As her hand raises to her brow a pink lily clung to her hand.
Oh, to be that lily against her face would be a blessing.
My perfect goddess grant me my prayer.
As do you caress those petals hold my face.
I lay down my pen with shame.
Who am I to ask for such a love?
Just a lowly poet with a worn quill tip.
Never will I forget you my goddess of lilies.
Never will you know of the time I wrote of you.
I love you, I will write of you always.
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