| King of Dispair |
| Teardrops hang from a pendant around the neck of an angel of the dark. The quiet, pale companion to the night. He sings odes to forgotten gods, and recieves favours of gratitude in return. Like the possession of a pice of the morning sitting in a bottle which hangs in a fold in his robe. Or the blood of a hind, on the silver blade of a knife; deadly to any god. He moves silently against the shadows, and gracefully against the night. He weeps one bitter tear for the mortals he had loved; ones he could never have. He collects tears of those who cry while they're alone, in the deepest hour of the night. And he rules them. He is the King of Despair. And he always calls in his debts. Debts in life, death and pain. And he never makes deals because he will never keep them. So many live and die in the arms of Despair, the angel. And he takes their tears; Only he knows the secret they contain. The secret of life everlasting. An immortal elixir. That is why he still owns the deep night. Why gods fear him. He rarely says a word, and conveys all in his pale eyes w hich seem ready to overflow with emotion at any moment. But never. Many know of him, though there are no inscribed words. And his name always hangs lightly on my lips; and his eyes always behind mine. He keeps the elixir close to his heart, as he does my tears. He is my angel of the dark, and the true King of Dispair. -end (May 15th 2000) |