A sea of dazzling colors swaying in the breeze,
an ocean of perfumes, how subtlety they please,
but I am dead. I'm dead, but yet I have not gone.
Eaten away, all that I am, but bones go on.
Here o'er my grave, the flowering field covers my rot,
and with each bursting bloom deeper despair is wrought;
for beauty stabs an ugly soul with hopes of life,
simplicity beguiles guile. How like a knife!
These sweet and gentle things remind me what I am,
and I, betrayed by love, each waving petal damn.
If only now I could forget myself and see,
could let these deadly waves of beauty finish me.
Tale Told 