The Insight
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
W.Blake
Stepping into the halls of Reflections of Passion… what do you crave?
- Pleasure, agony, Pain…
The autumn rain’s playing keys on the windowsill.
Slowly, malady goes away…
Who is that shade beyond the mirror?
…doors are open… glass is broken…
…and the needle is deeper and deeper, killing the fever,
filling with fire… the liquid flame…
Gorgeous Ardeur flows by the memories of time…
…timeless reflections of passion…
Memoire d’Ardente
Lay the rose upon my grave. The white one, Memoire is the name.
Love her smell… will remember you the day I rise…
To feel again the liquid flame inside…