In Her Cerulean Eyes
© Surazeus
2019 01 08
Exploring the world on globe of the Earth,
I zoom down to ancient city of Pskov,
where lion-hearted Alexander Nevsky
in sturdy kremlin on lush river shore
protected Novgorod, his Motherland,
from invading horde of Teutonic Knights.
In street view before white Greek temple hall,
that houses Pskov State University,
I see young woman with long golden hair,
our slender fairy queen with sparkling eyes,
incarnation of our first mother Gotha,
who smiles shyly at camera on the car.
From sprawling farm town where nine families live,
we walk together through tall rustling trees,
talking about the house we want to build,
to sell vegetables in the market square,
and I gaze deep in her cerulean eyes
that reflect beauty of the clear blue sky.
The knight in shining armor on white horse,
who gallops from dark woods in sudden flash,
leans over and clutches her in his arms
then gallops away as I grasp her hand,
so I run swift and silent as the wolf
to follow echo of her screams on wind.
Gasping for breath as I follow hoof prints,
I stumble by rocks on the river shore
where she lies sprawled and naked in the mud,
so I kneel and hold her head in my hands,
weeping as blood gushes from her stabbed heart,
killed because she fought to escape his lust.
Bearing her body to the market square,
I gaze in her eyes that stare at blank sky,
and lay her by the fountain of my tears
where I caress her cheeks, now cold and pale,
as people shout and cry out for revenge
against Christian knights who invade our land.
Our daughter runs into my trembling arms
and we embrace with ache of hopeless love
to lose sweet beauty of her charming soul,
but in her face I see her mother lives,
so I protect her on the road of life
as she journeys on beyond hour I die.
I dream this terrible tale of lost love
as I gaze at the glow of her young face,
blurred to protect her real identity,
though I sense immortal spirit of hope
shimmer in the curls of her flowing hair,
and long to hold her again in my arms.
© Surazeus
2019 01 08
Exploring the world on globe of the Earth,
I zoom down to ancient city of Pskov,
where lion-hearted Alexander Nevsky
in sturdy kremlin on lush river shore
protected Novgorod, his Motherland,
from invading horde of Teutonic Knights.
In street view before white Greek temple hall,
that houses Pskov State University,
I see young woman with long golden hair,
our slender fairy queen with sparkling eyes,
incarnation of our first mother Gotha,
who smiles shyly at camera on the car.
From sprawling farm town where nine families live,
we walk together through tall rustling trees,
talking about the house we want to build,
to sell vegetables in the market square,
and I gaze deep in her cerulean eyes
that reflect beauty of the clear blue sky.
The knight in shining armor on white horse,
who gallops from dark woods in sudden flash,
leans over and clutches her in his arms
then gallops away as I grasp her hand,
so I run swift and silent as the wolf
to follow echo of her screams on wind.
Gasping for breath as I follow hoof prints,
I stumble by rocks on the river shore
where she lies sprawled and naked in the mud,
so I kneel and hold her head in my hands,
weeping as blood gushes from her stabbed heart,
killed because she fought to escape his lust.
Bearing her body to the market square,
I gaze in her eyes that stare at blank sky,
and lay her by the fountain of my tears
where I caress her cheeks, now cold and pale,
as people shout and cry out for revenge
against Christian knights who invade our land.
Our daughter runs into my trembling arms
and we embrace with ache of hopeless love
to lose sweet beauty of her charming soul,
but in her face I see her mother lives,
so I protect her on the road of life
as she journeys on beyond hour I die.
I dream this terrible tale of lost love
as I gaze at the glow of her young face,
blurred to protect her real identity,
though I sense immortal spirit of hope
shimmer in the curls of her flowing hair,
and long to hold her again in my arms.
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