Sweet Ophelia

She was our sweet Ophelia
with far away eyes
and frostbit lips,

Roses woven in her hair,
with thorns pressed
into her skull,
blood red rouge
upon her cold cheeks.

Virgin the body
untouched by human hands
for she was born
only for one lover
by the name of Death.

He called to her
from afar, through the
still air of the night,
made aware of every
stirring.

And alone she weeps,
while from the shadows
comes her comforter
to whisper sweet nothings
against her ear.

Now the bride
in pearl white
chaste and pure
like a dream afloat
upon oblivion's tide.

And as maidens gather
upon the shore
to sing a nightingale's tune,
and cast her by chance
to the water, in reflections glance
she may see, our sweet Ophelia,
heavenly, suspended in eternity.

Beauty that never fades
with obsidian eyes
of everlasting night.