Thursday, May 15, 2008


I carry with me the fire
that belongs to the place that we mourn.
Beyond the love, beyond the lust
This constant yell the bloodlust.
The passion fed the restless soul
the taste of the love poured in the chalice is
what torments the inner artist
with his devoted reverence for the most beautiful dream,
Dark and light collided
oppositions that sealed the eternity
and worlds come closer with the touch of the fire.
The muse is the passion
the mistress of your restless soul,
You are like an open book in which I find myself,
You, the blood that keep my heart alive.

© Diana Mistera 2008
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