Lucy's Grave

[Luzifer]

Do you see them screaming
Dancing in their globes
Do you see them crying
Laughing there alone
Floating in the places
The eye it cannot reach
Floating through the faces
Of everyone I meet
They are stories that are ancient
Stories yet to be told
Some are lonely paupers
So they live in gold
And all live lives in sorrow
All live in a dream
All live in a tomorrow
That is someone else’s scream
They are floating in the darkness
They are floating through my mind
Passing down through language
And passing down through time
Are their paths like letters
Cut into a stone
By a thrashing writer
Writing out his home?
And when they enter me
Do they come into my soul?
Can I reach out and touch them?
And can I make them whole?
Are they real those dreams of fire?
That sad face with a one small horn
Which cried her soft sad tears
To a human which she had scorned?
Can I hope to touch her
Like many other’s too
Can I save a girl I know
Who’s life may not be true?
Will she be a being somewhere
In some other space
Or maybe just a phantom
Trapped behind my face?

Heheh... sorry I'm breaking my usual style but this was just bursting inside me and I couldn't keep it down. This is poem is dedicated to Lucy and if she is real then may she hear this in whatever world or life or state of being she lives in. May her destiny not be tarnished by the pens of man and not slain by the dreams of weak reality. May she be free to pursue existance across whatever story she can build herself, may she find free will and untold existance. I hope that she is real. I hope these words, words of a sleepless delusional boy reach her in her worldof blood. And if she is not real, if she is only the scarpings of another's mind, only the slave to another's existance and sentience... well... then i hope he never makes her suffer any more than she already has. For even those slaves of mind's, those frail forms of conception can be more real than all the people that stride upon this earth. I hope she hears, senses, no feels, this and is at peace in her snowglobe, so far from the realm of this delusional creature we call man. Good night Lucy. Sleep the dream of eternity.