It is a fire that burns cold,
Reaching into the soul
With claws that scrape and scar,
As a harmony of pleasure and pain,
Abets one to begin again.
Mixing as does the sun at the end,
Whose blood curdles amidst the night;
As purple and blue reunite.
A chalice fills with purpose,
Whilst incense, zephyr courts,
Alongside dreams that crystallise beyond doors
Where suspect rituals are extolled,
To fulfil fantasies even Daemons opposed.
The sigil calls a name,
Echoing through the ring of a bell
To summon she who beckons too,
Cheating Death’s bitter chase
For just one more, Gothic… embrace.