Moon Light...

Gleaming bone pale in the dark night, the domes of the old tomb rose before him. Like a the steady torture of a waking dream, he hears her voice calling out to him from the echoing recesses of its marble confines. Before his blind eyes, the mists of imagination draw the face of the men he killed to protect the beauty before him. The once and lost king dreamt the blood of carnelians, the cool forest of malachite and dark traceries of obsidian, he saw the flow and flush of the ingrained riches in the ice marble walls, all that he had dreamt but had never seen. Through the bars of his high prison, his dimming eyes continued the vigil, every now and then his daughter would visit but even then he could not look away from the mausoleum. It was his pain, his only pleasure, each day when the muzzein sounded he prayed the same litany, that he be layed to rest by her side. Even in his wakeful sleep he dreamt the domes had cracked open or the fort been razed to the ground, he would wake with a start and make sure. The tomb stood there a silent testament to his power, his will and ultimately his love. Sometimes he thought he had fallen short, for wonderous white as it's walls of marble were, they, could not equal the golden glow of her skin, as detailed and amazing as was the tombs geometry, they could not equal the symmetry of her face, as rich and opulant as were the tombs finishings, they could not equal the lush curves of her body , the vivid colour of her mouth. The tomb he had long discovered was a silent thing, it could talk low words of poetry. Though they may call him and archetect of the ages, the building he built was cold comfort. Every second of his vigil, he felt her loss like a constant ache. Wonder though it was for all who came and saw, to him inside below the ground, lay the greatest treasure of this unimaginable place. He watched the tomb until that night he saw her again. In unimaginable light every inch gleaming and renewed, she came at last to bring her lord home. In the morning, his daughter came and said the mourning prayer. Her brother was of iron resolve but even he was moved and under the central dome next to his wmother, he lay the body of his father. And as the last muzzien sounded and prayers were said, the citizens turned as one to the tomb. Suspended in the marvel of white marble, they finally saw what the old king watched: love .