Unhad

I walked the woods at night,
The wind embraced the trees,
The stars spilled their light,
And I lost sight of my feet.

The rose was never red,
It was him who was behind,
I tried to follow where he led,
Only him I longed to find.

Because I saw myself with bonds of lace,
Hidden away in his abode,
With autumn leaves upon my face,
And fear of loneliness unborn.

And he caressed me with his eyes,
And put me to sleep on the softest silk,
High above, the reddest skies,
Down below, me on my knees.

Yet, what I saw could not have been,
Nor in a hundred lifetimes be,
Extraordinary what I'd seen,
Ordinary all he would see.

Until time made my mind's eyes weary,
And blurred out the aching vision
That had tortured me so sweetly,
Setting free this self infliction.

Nothing left but the sense
Of a perpetual extrinsic ideality,
That cannot be shaken away
From my distant and lonely reality.