The glass misted over,
But that’s not entirely right
It was a more liquid remorse
That bedewed my lensed sight
She had borne my child
But she couldn’t bear me
Seems 8-balls and feng shui
Aren’t long together friends-to-be
Another dark winter passing
Cold fronts, love chill, and lost friends—
In the negative balance amassing:
All aspiration to the living Nature bends
Where is our Episode IV New Hope,
In reconciliation or masked medicines?
A new maturity is whispered for and called upon—
Can we but rise up above all these civil venal sins?
Digital Sith and Jedi return to the nursery;
All illusion is dead, what’s to become of me?
the downward curl of her mocking grin
is something to be avoided:
because you’ll lose your mind, lose your heart
lose everything you ever enjoyed;
as she fills your mind, fills your soul,
fills the reason for your very breath—
and you won’t mind, because in time,
you’ll lose your fear of death.
the slight crook of her mastering finger
is the signal of abandon:
give up the dawn, give up the logical,
as respite becomes a phantom;
she is now the sun, the all wise,
the purest crystalline alkaloid—
because of those eyes, those Cupid’s bow lips,
you’ll morph into her true android.
you will know the power of the Dark Side,
now her company is all you will ever abide.