Throughout Time

The sand burning hot,
melting into glass.
Reflecting the colors of the sun,
filling up the cup made of brass.

Of kings and queens,
the hours turn,
flowing on the sands of time,
awaiting the lover's return.

But the princess sits and weeps alone,
looking through the stained glass window,
but the red is her pain to wed the one of financial gain,
not of the real love she had come to know.

He was born into rags, a tradesman, nothing more.
She had fallen unconcious, so beautiful, but he was poor.
She woke carressing his cheek. So worn his tired young skin,
and drank from his cup, nor gold, nor silver, but merely made of tin.

She ran back to her castle, after feeling his lips of fire.
Afraid of her love, her burning desire.
A velvety kiss for her heart made of glass,
o'er the fields she ran, through the tall green grass.

But her heart was filled with the sands of time,
burning in the form her love would ignite.
Crystalized, and stained red from the pain and the tears,
shattering as the princess's heart took flight.

Through the embers of the flames,
passing through the fog so dense in the night.
She kissed his lips by the breath of wind,
as he died by his sword in his tired fight.

She held him close beneath the moon.
Two spirits, two lovers, who passed too soon.
He looked up and gazed upon her softened beauty,
and she whispered back without moving her lips, this love was meant to be.