The purpose of this piece of prose is to describe an ironic love story that I dream that the gods decide was too pure to be seen on this earthly world. (Laugh all you must at my cynical view of divine intervention). Some stories are descriptively vivid, yet this follows a pattern of destruction left in the wake of an indescribable love story. I foresee the story of one who commits the sinful act of betrayal.
(The poem itself is not complete for the past month since I cannot think further than the sixth line. Weaving betrayal with purity seems quite an arduous task as I most justly would put it).
(Note: I actually made progress though its still not complete. I would put it as halfway there. Lol)
A Woeful Love Story
The darkness permeated through, the sultry night twas,
The twilight period, the sun not yet crestfallen,
A draught bleakly tempered, though a second skin,
Yet the Maiden stirred, as she lay with rustling leaves.
Eternally graceful, her beauty incomprehensible,
Fathoming the abyss, he wandered close,
Tears glistening down, the pearls of perdition,
As she glided afar, towards the world unreachable.
