Parsifal

As he turned his raging intensity 

Inherited from a shadow prophecy 

Towards his beloved rose, his Hume’s Blush 

In his thundering hour of despair 

His raptured vsision drove him off all the edges 

Tumbling in his memories he soaked his dream

His words thrown out in the anguish of the fog 

To turn around in the forest of the night 

Looking upwards to get hold of the black silhouettes

His grieving heart sounded like a dizzy violin 

But he leaves his rough wings of heavy skies behind 

After the eclipse of the drowned hearts, when he returns 

The chandelier will have grown in his dark eyes 

And the mystery of his heart will be his language 

Sam Ophelia Endavour, February 2020