For Elise

Something about secrets; the grand unveiling of them, the clandestine whims of another to hide that which can only be recovered and illuminated, and consequently, (in the vein of The Bloody Chamber) those who cause the upheaval are often left 'bloodied' for it. The search for a supposed truth which we understand will be our ruin, and yet feel strangely only the more allured towards; the fire that immolates the paper wings of the moth. Elise is the object of Amor but the titular reference also suggests a rhythm.

Relentlessly
and timorously,
so begins the conflagration
of the soul.
It is prepared by you
as you take great breaths;
the opening steps
to approaching that
dreadfully endearing
door. As always,
you continue to go
ahead, without digress,
though it provide you
no rest;
just as fools always
know best.
Never too penitent,
one sees signs
but never considers to stop,
just as fallen rocks
are never to gather moss
upon rolling,
until they are finally dropped.
One makes dreams,
we soon dream too much
we debase it, dilate it, make
it a nightmare, it seems-
Perverted; our fancies, soon
make way to reality and
it's clear there's been bleed-
Sanguine is one,
with the other's regime
while the other is destitute
that one is as one seems.
We step to the lock,
still the door is shut,
but we peep through the hole
to see that which is what,
and there are our nightmares
and dreams so enshrined
that when we fancy we've
suddenly cashed in on our debt-
we begin to realise,
ours was indeed the wrong bet.
We place our hearts on our plates
then proceed to dine.
Our blood overfills glasses
as we glut on more wine.
And though we see it's our
ruin, we'd rather die
than not know;
the type that picks itself,
repeatedly, just to watch
water flow-
curiosity condemns us
into the hands that will
rend us;
we dream our undoing
and towards it, must go.
Rarely deterred once in flight,
and not wholly unlike the
moth with a frenzied
monomania for light, we
pester and tinker though are
continually scorched
and for every war raised
lose only more-
So deep is our concern
that by it, we are submerged.
And though you might think
that such character,
this 'characteristic', to it
there must be a chance,
a turn of hand to this
trick? Nothing at all, not
a little positive?
To this there is only
to open the door,
and then discuss what
good is restored.