by Nick Gisburne
He grew from something beautiful, a seed,
A ruby, in a universe of dust.
Disgusted by the stink of it, the greed,
He never found a woman he could trust.
And she, from somewhere base and black, a coal,
A blister on the purity of light,
Refused to offer any man her soul,
Corrupting those who cared enough, with spite.
They crashed, collided. Chaos made it so,
Contriving an appalling, twisted fit.
Absurd extremes, with nowhere else to go,
United, each too savage to submit.
Their infinite, impossible romance
Burned up, burned out, but sometimes, still, they dance.
