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Ballet de Bolero
(Isabella y Constantine)
the ballerina wears
a crown made of tears
the dream of love is but
the sum of her fears
a soldier’s name in flames
is burned in her heart
the beating drums of war
that keeps them apart
there in the archway,
a wraith, shimmering
the bitter truth was in
the words he would sing:
I rode the crimson crest
of fate’s valentine
to touch your cheek and kiss
your lips, one more time
and now my soul is borne
aloft to the skies
but in our hearts we know
that love never dies…
the spirit fades. she takes
the cup that will hold
the boiling poison,
as her fate is foretold
she folds, a swan asleep,
and closes her eyes
a whispered hush, she breathes
his name, as she dies…
the war will rage till there
are none left to fight,
nor stars to shine upon
the stillness of night.
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