Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Work in Progress v.2

White coals, flashes and pain and glimmers of light.
Blue ice, groaning with weight and invading ever onward.
My fangs, with wicked bile and bitter venom, creep slowly from my gums.

Burning coal and frozen glacier meet in perfect destruction
and I rise from their hatred as passionate fire and time's slow tide.
I am inevitable, I am invincible, I am screaming for the feast.

Yet every time I sate my lust I see Her, and my rage is tempered by coal and glacier.
That vicious bitch, her marks, her poison, remain under tattoo and in vein and I would destroy Her,
I would destroy me, I would destroy any if it would let me be free of Her.

Weak moment's yield clarity and I realize that He does Her bidding still.
He strikes nearly every enemy he sees, he dines on their minds and souls,
he feeds on any she, so that no she will be Her to Him again.

I see He hates Her now and loves Her still and regrets that in Her madness she shaped the world.
His existence is defined by Her (defiled?),
made real by Her,
fraught with Her.

She, any she, is now His Feast of hate and fear.
I would feel pity if He would have the courage to withdraw his fangs,
I would feel pity if I had the courage to make him stop.