Monday, August 18, 2008

Work in Progress

Just a work in progress:
White coals, flashes of pain, and thin lines of sudden light.
Blue ice, groaning weight, snapping but inexorably forward.
And my fangs, with wicked bile and bitter venom slip slowly over my lips.

I am burning coal and frozen glacier.
I am passionate fire and time's slow tide.
I am screaming for the feast, for any feast.

Every time I see a Feast I see Her, and my rage is tempered by coal and glacier.
Her marks, her poison, still remain under tattoo and in vein and I would destroy Her,
I would destroy me, I would destroy any Feast if it would let me be free of Her.

A moment's clarity and I realize that He does Her bidding still,
lashing out on any Feast, any she, for none will be Her to Him

He hates Her and loves Her and 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. No more will she threaten Him by being like Her.