Razor’s Edge

Was I bewitched so by the thin red line,
To notice not that time released its hold,
And let pale Iris snip the silver twine,
To steal sweet youth before it turns to Gold,
Exsitence now is not what I was told,
No seraphim and harps to grace my ear,
Just silence, painful silence, and the cold,
Discomfort of my masochistic fear,
So icy cold yet somehow seems to sear,
My soul until the ache is too much to bare,
As mortal life mirages now appear,
Intangible are they away they tear,
Mistake it was the curtain fell too soon,
When razor’s edge did charm me like the moon.