Love is the poem, Beloved is the light!

A half written pristine poem,
On the pearly white papyrus,
Shining through,
A few forgotten archaic streaks,
Suspended within the opalescence,
Of vibrant words.

Lamenting the loss of,
A melody that quivers in a hum,
And dies at the start,
Of a vaccumated world .

The light from the words tear itself,
From its music;
And moves on, fighting,
The ferocious vaccum;
Creating a mosaic,
In the sublime solitude of matter;

The opals of the poem,
Are charred on the surface,
The papyrus crumples into ash,
To fill the world.
The ash and the opals strewn all over,
Becomes the medium,
Evoking the notes from the dead.

The half sung melody,
Melts with the words,
Creating a new song.

Love is the poem,
Beloved is the light,
Both unite,
On a pyre burning bright.
The charred opals in moons revived,
Night, hums the song with a pride.

And when the melody slowly stops,
And the song fades,
The night looses,
Its opals again,
The voids celebrate annihiliated lyrics,
Mocking the meek, shrivelled up syrinx.

Another half written pristine poem,
Is suffused with the archaic light;
To create a new melody,
With all its might...