Aeal

Avalon

My castle of dreams, far away from the world, floating in mist, gilded with the wings of a thousand fairies, with the souls

of three men, three mortalkind who died, is where the seraphs never cried, and angels never pinioned, never ever denied. Here, lost innocence is requited through new wisdom of the heart, where loss, imbedded into hope, ingrained in love, with truth, is the source of renewed and eternal strength. It is lit with but starlight, no sun nor moon will shine, because there is no day or night, only the passing of the mist, of the rain, of the wind. Closed to the world, it is all that the world can never be, can only dream itself as that dew-covered isle,

where no man dwells, but where dwell all hopes, all dreams, all wishes,

and beginnings.


Do the words one utters before death tend to be truer, or can they be a lie?
--Subaru, X/1999