Rusalka - 2010/04/11

At a black river which lay still in the twilight,
A visage of that woman can be seen by moonlight.
Her eyes are dark and her features are blood red,
Those ghastly cries making it clear she is dead.
Yet I feel no fear, so I stand agape and listen,
As the moonbeams beg the murky waters to glisten.
Of what does she sing this fair maiden wrought,
Either of tragedy or perhaps a love once sought?
While morning mist comes, I wonder how she fell,
Knowing there are never easy answers from hell.
Visions of darkness begin to wrack my frail mind,
In an effort to confuse the truth I would find.
The river goes wild and then becomes a torrent,
This sensation of suffocation is truly abhorrent.
With my final breath denied, I now feel so free,
Unburdened by my senses, the truth I now can see.
My sympathy is wasted and my sacrifice in vain,
The bitterness of this trap laid seems so plain.
Beauty in a trance veils the dark demon within,
Along with cries of pain designed to draw me in.
The water is its home also serving as my prison,
Though I am bound and enslaved without derision.
For her power is great and my resistance frail,
Anxiously awaiting the day she'll tell the tale.

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