Greetings to all.... Thank you for taking the time to read, and feedback and ideas are always helpful! I haven't posted for a while because this poem has taken me a relatively long time to write, with the many revisions it had to undergo to make it sound exactly the way I wanted it to, and feel exactly how it should. Apologies for the length! =) ...Auzifairy Delusions..... Ah, the breeze, the gentle breeze, Does play among my locks of hair, So soft the breeze, so soft it whispers, Gently, gently as a prayer. It whispers on this icy evening, Would that it could ever cease, For I am weary of the thunder, And desire only peace. Alas, these prayers that I utter Cannot pierce the Heart above, In this realm of sole existence, In this realm of shattered love. And the frost so gently drifts upon me, Drifts upon my barren breast, Whiter than the pallor on me, Fragile as the sparrow's rest. Ah little stars of winter's end, Draped in modesty and woe, Feel thou not the night of terror?? See thou not the dead below?? Hark, oh gentle beads of wonder, Set thine eyes beyond 'yon cave, Dost thou linger yet, untouched by fear? Oh can it be that I but rave? What? Am I yet cursed to see To hear, to feel the icy breath, To sense what only I perceive, To choke upon until my death? How canst thou yet torment me thus, In the twilight of my fears? In the sphere of shadowed lakes That ever drown me in their tears? Oh leave me in my misery, For thou art not my Soul's Divine, For thou art not the precious stone That pledges ever to be mine. Yet alas, what can I do but reach To thee, though thou hast done me wrong? To reach to thee with fingers dripping Crimson life which thou hast drawn. Vile pools of sorrow gather now, About the oceans of mine eyes. At such a time, they plague me thus, And send a tremor through my sighs. But a name, a name, I hear a whisper, Can it be still 'till the morrow? Can it leave me to myself and Let me die in my own sorrow? Be it my long lost Sanity? Has She come, the druid of my soul? Cometh, cometh down, I beg of thee, Cometh, ere my bell should toll. Or might it be the Faery King, Who whispers to me fragile things, The night I died I heard him hither, Felt the white gossamer of his wings. Oh would I had died ere I saw The clouded skies rush o'er my head, Before I felt the vengeful Satan Hurling fire at my bed. Before the flames did rush on me, Before the waves did ravish me, Before the shadows touched my body, I soared above a marble sea. So far away, so long ago, I recall that I could breathe, But nothing more does shade my thoughts, An emarald....a flower wreathe. Ah, see once more I am alone, The silence does about me creep, The sky cries on my shoulder bare, God, on whose shoulder must I weep?