Transfiguration

Nothing in this world can be as unsullied and pure
as the love of us Cold Ones for the ddead.
Our "love" lives only in those fleeting moments... -of
recollection;
memories we´re fearing to forget.
Our "love" knows neither kiss nor touch,
we are embracing dust, air or ourselves
when visualizing what we´ve lost.
Awoken by a sound or scent,
some vision call sad phantoms..., fleeting,
wrapped in fading colours... -our lament.
And there is the all-devouring dread:
"some day I might not bring him back (anymore),
when my conscious mind decides to lose the contours of his
face".
Lost forever, lone and sad, gone forever to the dead...-
far beyond the barriers of the opposite space.
Yet, alas, despite it all...,
walking throught these deserted halls...
It´s easy, still, to love the dead...-
It´s easier to love the dead.