By: Chryseas Posted on: February 14, 2012
Art and Beauty naturally twined,
His lips so red, Her voice so sweet,
Her gift, a town He designed,
He called it Caer Witrin, a snowy retreat.
Upon its revealing, She fell so weak,
But none could aid Beauty's suff'ring,
And then She fainted upon that peak,
In His arms despite His plea'ing.
The cure it came like death to His heart,
To save His Love and Her domain,
Forced, and in haste, He must depart,
Leaving Her, His Love in restrain.
- Let us recall a tragic love, the story
- Of Lady Selene and Her Lord, Scarlatti.
Broken and exiled, He hid in Shame,
Away from all as He toiled in quiet,
Creating new Art from Light and Flame,
He sent some out with hopes of riot
And cheer for His Brother, Phaestus the Smith,
Who crafted a gift to urge Him home,
Then He was truth, no longer myth.
But He remembered, His Love's near-Gloam,
And the part He played both selfish and loathe.
Silent was He from fear and remourse,
He had to amend the wrong not clothe
The past in charm and words or vain discourse.
- Thus continues the tragic love story
- Of the Lady Selene and Lord Scarlatti.
A gift of apology, He made for Her,
Succoured by aides and crystals of ice,
He fashioned a spider, wintry and pure,
Then gave a sad sigh, in hopes it'd suffice,
For trying to make Her what She was not,
A Lady of One despite Her Heart,
Which was for All, no single sot,
Thus He requested that They restart.
By Her grace He proffered His present,
Like a poor vagrant He begged full pardon.
Acquitting Their past, a grievous lament,
She Proclaimed to all Forgiveness was won.
- And so concludes the tragic love story
- Of the Lady Selene and Lord Scarlatti.