The Phantom of the Opera

Dear Christine, I write to you for the last time,
To share my joy, bitter to you:
Today I'm overtaken by the grace of understanding.

I found a veil of thick black cloth -
darkness, not polluted by the light of bonfire,
the heat of which attracts the ones of prey.

Away from the blinding glow of fire, I removed the bandage
and I witnessed my exhausted body being lit
by countless cosmic wonders.

And I feel warm, touching my own chest,
which no longer renders audible heartbeat -
leaving pure vibration resonance of my blissful soul.

I see reality. I am of warm blood.
I seek for true stars, but nothing less,
not ghosts, born in the poison of flesh.

I used to gasp and lose my mind from emptiness,
while hopelessly trying to breathe with your kind.
Loneliness grew in me in the company of beasts.

Now I can see the path to my own sun,
spreading out with black carpet before me,
strewn with jackals bones of someone else's fear.

This letter is my first step.
I expect no forgiveness for I seek none.
And the blinding fire of yours will be the only addressee.