One Night at the Temple of the Slain

She transgresses her virgin soul from chastity, 

destined to be slain before valor bring her love. 

Her mask I wear is the kiss of death,

her sighs make my house of cards fall.

Knowing not the locus for this abyss
from where she invites that fountain tree, that satin veil, 

which breathes when the night is dark,

which awakens that flock of vultures,
which causes her crown to bloom,

which makes flickering light illum'
darkest secrets that blind my eyes.

Her spirit roams through corridors of time.

Lo! So dark is the eternal night. 
So bloody her face.

At night, stargazing through postcards mediaeval,
I witness, her eyes are pierced by burning suns,

which through clocks of empty spaces shine, 

bear her meaning.

And like a grain of glass reflects,  

mirages over pieces of this air
bring her visions to me in dreams,

and I, the living, scar of the oppressed,

in her palace of illusions, scream 

there is no god, only her beauty divine.