- Lost prophets - it's not the end of the world - ()
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Tailsa , , . , , !
Dascha the Light Bearer
From the east she came,
With wit that dazzled and eyes that glistened like no other,
Bound in the like eternal braid as I,
For much we shared was the same.
One day, she will make a magnificent mother,
How wonderful, that she became my other.
Of all she possessed:
Was a spirit - unbreakable
Strength - unimaginable
Will - unalterable
Beauty - untouchable
A Self - her own to wield,
With a piece of Lucifer's crown.
These she teaches me,
Which I wish her to teach me still,
From her divine wisdom,
And soothing gentility:
How to see, how to nurture,
How to be, how to tend,
How to care, how to love,
How to live, how to mend.
She, who knows the roots of this world's beautiful aura,
She, who gives life its worth,
A living incarnate of Hyperborean blood memory,
A muse, who speaks to eternity.
Love means to be found,
Love awaits our discovery,
In each other's fate we are bound,
It may thus be with certainty.
So may it be.
Our strife, absence and hardship
Leads us on Amor's path,
Where awaits spiritual kinship,
And ties of deathless love, that last.
So may it be.
It's special, she says, it's special.
And how right she is.
The Cathars at Montségur,
And the Alpine Minnesänger,
Agree.
From the east she came,
With a vibrant, pure aura,
A head full of dark crimson hair,
Flashing with blood and fire,
And a scent only her own,
More soothing than any flower.
So appeared Dascha before me,
Enshrined in light,
Amid a watery aura so very bright.
I hold with hope,
That she will remain long in my life.
-Taylor Wade. March, 2010
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