Romance
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The masquerade hides demons in the dusk,
Until the midnight hour bids all unveil
And tiny parts of heaven built in trust
Reveal themselves but bitter shades from hell.
Like some vindictive dragon, poison-clawed,
They rip into the spirit, tearing bone,
Destroying hope more swift than any god,
And turn sweet peace into some dark unknown;
And still, although we know the aching price
To pay for tiny whispers of romance,
We choose once more to cast the crimson dice,
And dare to join the devils in their dance;
	This joy, this ache, this dance more dear than breath:
	To live without is but a living death.

8-29-96