Tuesday 1 June 2010

Ana Whose Eyes Are Burning

Thanks to Adam. :-)

Ana’s eyes are burning,
As they shine from beyond the black,
The hearts of men are churning,
As candles burn out all they lack.

They gaze out at the city,
They gaze on all who dare,
They have no place for pity,
And feign not unaware.

There is a bridge that bears much crying,
Like the weeping of a wisp,
A will undiluted and undying,
The burn that’s sharp and crisp.

The hedgerow is now wilting,
The trees will dance and sway,
The parallels are tilting,
And the ships are washed away.

Her melancholy moment’s answer,
Her days are never short,
The twilight angel’s dancer,
The devil’s lust for sport.

Her eyes are truly fire,
That melt a deep dark sea,
The ashes of desire,
Shall tumble far to thee.

Her tongue is but the softest sword,
Too sharp to hear the battle’s run,
When guilty of its own accord,
And thus shall never set this holy sun.

Oh eyes, what eyes that greet the child,
Born in sin and rendered wild,
Casting fragments of a page,
That struts its way cross gilded stage.

Ana’s eyes eternal,
And now they beckon all who seek,
The path from the infernal,
The road too clear for names to speak.

Ana is the fire—Ana is the rain,
Ana is the destiny that carves pleasure from pain.

The rain is washed by morning,
A dawn of deepest blue,
All that’s born of fire—is all in this world that’s true.


  1. Always an honour supreme for one's humble art to please someone of such supreme literary talents.