Lay me down

Bury me in our garden, Love; that time

so oft’ spoken of is nearly here.  When

I have grown still in your arms, when the warmth

of my heart has faded, carry me out.

Hold me close, Love, for this night brings a chill

that cuts deep to the core.  When I am gone,

when the damp earth must replace your loving

caress, bring me flowers; let them grow

where nought else could be grown.  I leave

you childless as found, but not untouched – ne’er

untouched.  Rosa, lilium, betula;

let them flourish where I could not.  But do

not once think me in cruel darkness my love,

for I can see the stars forever now.

Will I be lonely?  Oh, how cold is fear;

You are my world and bright heaven still but

-          God knows.  Did we ever tell Him, dear,

that our souls danced entwined ‘neath these dark skies?

Ah – the time is here!  I am torn from you;

the seasons have changed, and my world grows bleak.

Let me go, Love.  Let my soul fly free, and

come dance ever ‘neath these bright stars with me.

Love's Insanity

Is not love a dual-faced pretender?

One that tricks thee to laugh and weep the same?

To She who dares not kill - fears not to maim -

Still yet we offer sanctuary.  Hers

Is poison divine; that ivy creeper

Gropes our hearts and draws forth the Shadow Dame.

Masque stained ruby red from devotion’s pain,

She taints blind bliss with dark doubt’s bitter curse.

For are not Love and Hate much the same?  Does

Not Love bestow that which Hate tears apart?

In Her anger, She breaks that which She knows

She creates, for this artist loathes Her art,

The magnificence woven from Her own

Longing: The Jekyll and Hyde of our Hearts.

When the Devil Wears White

The shades of yesteryear haunt thy soul as

the dark dreams of tomorrow scream on in

Spite.  For what is life but dark minds sequinned

with bloody desires, sweet mendacity

its only mask, sin its only sanctum?

Contrast the look with intent – this beauty

hides but the bitter poison of malice

conceived in Hell and wept in blood.  This be

not life, not light at all; we crouch trembling

in shadow as Death stalks our empty eyes –

souls taken, now for the pane.  For, look:

The angels are blind.