The stars often absorb his shadows of necrosis midst their moonless skies of obscurity , as his thick brows sinking amidst a couple of black fiends look up to them . The luminary comets begin to reflect into his frigid , noir concentric irises of graveyard silence , mirroring their illusive light , in the hope that someday ...someday this nocturnal , dark knight will remember how it feels to appreciate light spill into his frozen veins...but , alas! He refuses to open his dark doors boldly , as the starlight blinds his existence...as Fate once whispered figuratively into his ear through notions of dark humor , " You are the Devil's gift to God , my child , for the reason every figment of your flesh , blood and soul was born to wither "...
The moon has for long seized desiring that this empty soul would ever halt in dreaming , whenever the knight broods on her spotless , crescent-shaped marble mosaic.She doesn't dare to face him anymore ; instead , she patiently listens to his infinitely long palls of agonizing silence ...his silence creating a uncanny tune of a nostalgic symphony , as the crescent-shaped beauty becomes his secret archangel..and so begins the depiction of his pristine , heart stabbing nodes of his silence which begins to unravel a tale of a dead rose withered across the faint linen of time...a perished soul sleeping since the age of early days; innocence , life , a spectrum of colour been lost in swirls of buried dormancy ...a prestigious enigma presently functioned by the black vines of lethal destruction unleashing itself as a primary asset of the Goddess of the Night. The Goddess who penetrates this dark knight's life between the decay of dark shadows swirling around her immortal abyss which unshackle him from the chains of feelings...as the Goddess acknowledges the saturation of his untainted sabotage and pathos...she designs a broad , ebony ocean inside this knight's body of solitary necropolis lull mounted over innate monstrous cobwebs...cobwebs made of sacred , thick threads of an old Catherine Earnshaw's heart and her stained memoirs.
The moon holds her breath as she realizes his sole purpose of a life walking under Death's shadows subsists upon a wish...a desire to sit outside Heaven's doors , just to hear Catherine breathing inside God's cream coloured chambers...such is the inclination and need emanated through thousand tidal waves of misty lull felt through the moon's every figment of her marble skin every dawn ; and yet ,the moon never tells him that his musical silence kills her every eventide.
Edited by austenrox - 03 February 2012 at 3:15am