Poem By David Lacey
Three Graces born within a harmony of tides
In Parallel to the Goddess torn as her breaking heart abides,
Keeping in time the movement of the waves.
Here cool fountains echo laughter from the mountain high,
Here we sit to wonder why, meandering through skyscapes we never gained the chance to fly.
As azure fields reverberate beyond the depths of the vault,
Monastic monstrosities appear by twilight,
In procession ghosts of dissolution come to claim their gold.
Come to sell a story told.
Naked as the flames, holding close their arms upon the others shoulder,
Each with their own charm, three graces born never to grow older,
Three Graces born shall do you no harm; you may never find another,
Who will shimmer as she flows, who will plant the dying rose
Grace in faith of each hearts rejoice gone the instant that she goes.