As I dream, I do see
where angels and demons converge
and mourn their lost purity
with an unending dirge
of such sorrow
Such magnitudes
of melancholy
is it their way
of becoming once more
holy?
Such sweet sorrow,
lamentable bliss.
But on the morrow
I shall forget all this
Instead I’ll recall,
in a hazy sort of way,
dancing in an empty hall
as the memory fades in the light of day