A rustle on the skin aches the betrayed beauty priestess.
She resides in the fires germinating the pain greeting us -
The greeting feminine wounding the was-loyal spark,
In the bones renegade of the deity imaging a chast stark.
Fires ablaze rumble the calm calamity long embedded;
It is awaken, the memory of the temple-goer beheaded.
The mother of unfairness unchained, by the just wise,
Was the birth-giver of horror which from love did rise.
Devotion is blameless, for it shelters humanity blind,
It humanises the divine, and divinises humans kind,
Fostering within a verdure pale of frayed graves,
For the lessons and disappointments, love engraves.
My Minerva were you, a Gorgon sister was I, poor me!
The Infatuation agonising of mine, soothed me: the debris,
But, as blind humans are, so are deities of the universe,
Deities forgetful of purpose, but not the next verse.
“War is glorified, Earth is a paper, power is its weight;
Bloods beautify the victorious' plate, and opens a gate,
A gate, a shortcut towards the heavens of peaceful gods,
Says the saints and repeats the puppets as everyone nods.
Love is dirt, in the name of gods, it all must be purged -
It, or what seems similar, noone cares, “the Gods scourged!”
Who are you, Earth's dust to say no, Lucifer's descendants?
Servants! accessories you are! Barely, and merely pendants.”
For you: ***** and part, stop and restart, body and heart,
But your thoughts everything did discard, leaving us apart.
No goddess were you, that, I shall bear in my left days -
Curtains burnt, scripts are stained, and cancelled the plays.
