Theme : Dreams

Epilogue: The Roses, by Mike Allen

And I said, "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"

Let them never know my face; you, child
of my shared blood, you shall in my stead
take flight, and bear this flower to lay
in the shadow of his gravestone.
Let these posthumous admirers marvel
and muse, let them, who honor him
centuries too late with apologetic words,
philosophy deep, a tower of stone vanity
to mark the final rest of his too-soon-
silenced voice; let them ponder, for they
can never know him as I, who watched him
die nameless in a filthy fever bed, I
who was in death and life his muse,
his wonder-filled child-bride, aurora of light
that danced amid his soul's dark cumuli;
and he, my fountain of knowledge,
my architect of rivers to universes
fantastic and strange, the guardian
and the spoiler of my youth, my gateway
into realms of death and dark. Queen of night,
still I watched him die, allowed his passing
for love could let me do no less, and yet
that very love lives still. Bear this rose,
child of my shared blood; let them not
know my face, but let them know
I love him still. At midnight, on this night
of his birth, the birth of my own black
and crimson light, henceforth,
lay roses in the shadow of his tomb.

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