Split in two, right through the middle,
A smiling reflection - a widow’s riddle.
Her king, her chains, her cruel oppressor,
He walks alive, yet death’s successor.
The circle is closed, the serpent tight,
Its tail in its jaws, locked in the night.
The moon bleeds red - innocence slain,
Two halves remain, yet none of them sane.
One is the daughter, the other-the son,
A balance undone, a fate overrun.
The king laid them bare, a gift to his shade,
A sacrifice deep in the darkness he made. ...