the crimson rain seeks flowers…

the crimson rain seeks flowers and brings them to the tomb. throughout centuries, there's nothing that can change it. he moves so silently, no one could ever notice; makes no sound. he weeps so silently — sheds blood instead of hís tears. he's just a ghost; no body and no shadow. he strokes the stone with his thumb; kisses it. "your highness, I'm forever your most devoted… lover." those words he whispers, yet again, before retreat. he thought he'd rather die than let him go first but destiny decided on its own so now he just has nothing to hold on to but by some cruel magic he still lingers in this world and in the dark of night, he weeps — and blood soaks earth around; but never there, where his love's body lies. cannot break free; chained by the fate and faith, he cries of oath he wasn't able to comply. …and no one now can end his misery.

***

one god ascended; one god fell one god had lived a life of shining gold one god descended; sacrificed himself for those who warmed him when the world grew cold he loved the people; loved the whole world and there was not much to decision made: one person, and one hat; and words of comfort from one nameless little friend; he was then ready to take every blow to curse himself — he'd be dead, he had known but even then choose others over self and faced without fear the death of his own. and demon — one who swore once to protect, to sacrifice the whole world just to save him was forced to watch, unable to defend; unable to rewrite the story here "your highness!"; yet repeating — all in vain however called, he wasn't even heard "your highness… it was you to suffer all the pain; but now my heart — not yours — is what much hurt." he knew: there's no way back, nothing to do but desperation just grew up on it and so he made a promise: "oh, I won't leave you, in life or death; together we will be."

***

"together"— it can come in many forms, and soul to soul equals to it too; so now… he just can't leave to underworlds because they'd part their ways — he's demon — if he'd do so — desperate and lonely — he still walks this earth, as painful as at all may be and story of his loved one spreads to folks; of tragic beauty of divinity

***

white petals and red maplleaves're what's left of his dream to be never torn apart and butterfly with silver gleam flies over there and follows him throughout his endless undead life