Beatrice, maga crudele - di beldezza senza pari.
Sometimes I count the days I left behind
And watch the dusk fade into molten gold.
And I behold legends left in my mind
Cling to far corners grey with death and cold.
When light I see has burned the truth away
And madness glows with magic and promise,
The twilight reigns and keeps my fears at bay
A banquet of mem'ries begins with bliss.
And of my weak will I do question make
If thou, to the realms of our past, must go —
If, for my throne, sins themselves would forsake
That mistresses die when brought down so low.
But nothing atones, so you make defense
'Gainst pain with love for he who takes thee hence.
Senza amore, la verità non si vede.
Reposted from my tumblr (Writing Challenge Day 7).
Conclusive proof that I am alive and well.. OR IS IT?
Lol short sonnet is short and redundant author is redundant. Kinzo's POV, or at least I tried.
Italian translates to:
+Beatrice, cruel witch - your beauty is matchless.
+Without love, the truth cannot be seen.
Thanks for reading.