Tears of Euterpe

I twine a wreath of ringing coloured words
With my illuminated marble hands.
I watch defenseless turquoise little birds
And wonder how it starts and how it ends.

The sun breaks through the crystal waves of drapes
And there she is in front of starry eyes.
Her skin and constellations, millions shapes.
Reflection on the surface of disguise.

This bitter aftertaste in crimson mouth.
Euterpe, I`m just a foolish boy!
He smelled of golden tulips in the south
And everlasting summer evening joy.

I smash distorting mirrors on the walls.
I raise my head with melting feeble grace.
And anger fills deserted frozen halls
While splashing ink on lamentable face.

Desire to collide with velvet sky.
My thoughts are scattered in the lunar snow.
This nascent sorrow is a noiseless cry,
Which tears apart my chest and all I know.

A ballet dancer holds a wounded rose.
Oh, what are you, atrocious world of art?
Intoxicating fruity flavour flows
And strikes at my impatient bleeding heart.

And everything I want to say in rhyme
Is burning in the flames of leaving day.
But stays in ashen flowers and chime
Of my immortal blooming written pray.