When the mother’s child,
Gave silence, I required.
I lost the needless spires,
High above the mountain.
Those who saw my mourning,
For a deeper kind of love,
Knew feebly within,
The disasters sought,
By the twists of my currents.
Battered beneath the highest gray stone,
Where others surmount just below,
I echoed a certain voice.
“I, who knew of Julia, and pleasures,
Pleasures, even when pain mingled.
I was trapped in a foreboding state,
Not by time, but by the senses.”
Down with the thinnest of fingers.
Julia, who quaked above dynasties.
She wrapped the meager with loss.
For the world beckoned to Julia.
I broke the fable by my tongue,
Though, I’d slew the serpent twice.
She rose once more,
To meet the light of day.
And where every sadness roams,
She blows out the candles.
I spoke once more,
To Julia’s silver form.
“Oh, with your dress of hued purples,
By my cloak of veiled bleak.
I surely knew of pain for pleasure,
That took off the slightest meek.”