In the depths of the haunted hollows of the ghoulish forest,
Where Mother Earth lies bound to the blood-soaked soil,
Confined and heaving with the pressing weight of eternity,
The winding threads of life mingle into a blinding labyrinth.
Imprisoned within the almighty arms of these twisting knots,
A wine-colored simarre rests strewn across the blood-red earth,
Its ghastly slashes overflowing with the wailing shame of one’s sins.
A withered body of a once blooming young man shudders in the wasted robe,
Bathed in the tipped cauldron of his spilled love
For darling Elizabeth, the tailor’s dear daughter.
Without her, the world is as bleak as a fruitless desert
To be wandered forever, searching for the luminous beacon that would be her.
Oh, woe! His weakened hand reaches up to the somber heavens of the dusky universe,
For no more daylight shall split the raging skies, gashed by a knife’s slaughter.
Sprawled upon the red earth, he ravages in his troubled mind,
Indulging in his glorious love and cringing at her most grievous doom.
He vaguely envisions himself, a fashionable young man overwhelmed with love and ambition,
Thundering down a looping lane, mounted on his great white stallion
As the young man’s dark red silk scarf, pale and ghostly in the moonlight, flutters in the fresh night breeze.
The heavenly fragrance of Elizabeth’s tender rose bushes soothes the still night air
In the deepening darkness of the dormant town square.
A sudden sound of horse hoofs clattering down the winding road,
Striking the ancient cobblestones in fervor
And shattering the young stillness reigning the night,
Abrupts the romantic mood enveloping the elegant young man.
The disruption of the horrid sound sees him galloping away under the moonlight’s sheltered shine
As a wild horse rushes madly along the young man’s side,
And a pair of hands ruthlessly rams into his wasted ribs.
Swooping upon the unsuspecting young man,
The beastly bandits besiege the pitiful body and fling it in the back of their cavernous carriage.
Rip-rip; rip-rip! The thieves tear at the young man’s fine wine-colored simarre,
Snatching at his costly jewels and ripping the dark red silk scarf, strand by strand.
They hoot uproariously at the young man and blind his eyes with sand
While slapping his bloodied cheeks with a wicked grin
And bearing a menacing butcher knife up to his chin.
A wavering wail of sorrow and terror interrupts the anxious scene.
Elizabeth, her long gown floating gracefully upon the troubled currents of the fresh night air,
Stands mightily before the beastly bandits,
Her fair hand tightly clutching the attacker’s bare arm
As her golden hair drifts in the heavy air in long, thick strands.
The bandit, swift to turn, jeers at the struggling young woman,
Capturing her petite waist in his atrocious embrace as swift as an eagle retrieving his prize and killing her.
Bound to the seat of the carriage, the young man wails in despair,
Enclosing his withered body in his weakened arms
And cradling his chest as he is carried toward an unknown pathway,
Toward the beyond of the vast forest.
Now, as he embraces his fine simarre to his frail frame,
He utters a soft farewell to his love and his life.