La Lune sur la Lac

I was greeted in a vision by melancholy and despair,
And recount a tale of lunacy born from a love so strong,
That the foundations of heaven were fortified at its conception,
Of such madness that no man or woman knows how to say,
From whence it has come or whitherto it goes,
Only that the state is common when love is true.

The tides of this passion unfurled,
The moon hides her from the world.

Always with love, there are degrees:
Affection, friendship, infatuation, lust,
But these lovers I have seen with my mind's eye,
Bear witness to a love so prophetic and profound,
That they have known and possessed the soul of the other;
True love is love of spirit and nothing besides.
Watch now, as they travel together, talking, laughing,
There is song and desire, longing to be united eternally,
Not bound by flesh, but bound to it, 
In sexual expression manifold ten times upon ten.
Each evening after the sun has descended below the horizon,
And the moon meanders through the nocturnal sky,
These lovers meet at the lake,
To bathe and copulate in the silver light of their celestial sanctuary.

Every night for years, decades, centuries - millennia even,
They met on the shore of that lake,
And time ceased, and wondrous buildings and locales and magic,
Lingered around them upon their arrival,
This pair guided by spiritual love,
Instead of the base instincts that ruled their ancestors.
Watch now as the beautiful woman appears there,
And finding not her mate, calls to him, eager for his response,
Desiring his company, compelled to his companionship,
But there is no reply, only the silent still of the night,
And the moon on the lake.

As the oyster cradles the pearl,
The moon hides her from the world.

Oh, ever deepening terror!
Oh, horror beyond imagining!
And sorrow greater than any heart could bear,
For this man, the only man - the one - who through the years,
Had worn many faces, finding her always at the shore of the lake.
What worlds they had created! 
All religion was conceived at their union; 
They sang to god in each other.

But does the beautiful woman weep,
Or throw herself to the ground wailing,
For the passing of her love? No.
She removes her clothing,
And lays herself down as she would if her mate was with her,
Remaining there until the earliest rays of light cut the morning sky.
Then she rises, and dressed,
She walks the path the lovers would travel back from the lake,
All the time speaking, 
But speaking as if the man is beside her, even as he was before.

And so her sorrow is revealed, for every day without her love,
Is a day spent in the throes of madness at the thought of him.
And even though his soul departed the spheres of the world long ago,
She still walks and talks and sings and loves,
As if he stands with her.
And every night, she adjourns to that low silent lake and lies naked,
Beneath a cold and eerie moon;
Forever it has been and forever it will be.

The tides of this passion unfurled,
The moon hides her from the world.