Behind an arc with glowing curtains

a dove is flying, tired wings,

where you are He is uncertain

you girl with dress so red, that sings.

when the ships emit a spark

eyes of ghosts in the ocean's domain

would they consider it dark

to turn the mermaid into foam of pain

would be great for their low honor

drapery so torn by claws, alienly fey,

it's like sorrowful news spread by a caller;

yet fashionably stony graves just weigh.

the eyelids are closing, so dozy,

they are sweet like honey of gold.

burning out so cozy

like they want to die before they're old.

three stars in a crown so new

like a mirror Einaledge

Above them flies a snowy owl

with a trail of yearning pledge.

as there isn't anything more fair

than a remorseful young man so sad

with raven feathers in his lively hair

married to his dreams, so glad.

he didn't know how he got immersed

in fixated passion to sink a brothered ship

the lights of two trees-temples dispersed

drinking water from the prince's tears; drip

to turn into opals,

that shall, from the dark corona

observe him as a cathedral,

purebloodness coolly waiting with aroma,

as they're silmarils, untouched by killers,

but not as crystals

~ in his eyes that are souls.

they are portal mightily defending pillars.

The prince is silent and cries, observing his goals.