"ishtar" poems
I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tigery stripes, and a face on it
Round as the moon, to stare up.
I want to be looking at them when they come
Picking among the dumb minerals, the roots.
I see them already -- the pale, star-distance faces.
Now they are nothing, they are not even babies.
I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first gods.
They will wonder if I was important.
I should sugar and preserve my days like fruit!
My mirror is clouding over --
A few more breaths, and it will reflect nothing at all.
The flowers and the faces whiten to a sheet.
I do not trust the spirit. It escapes like steam
In dreams, through mouth-hole or eye-hole. I can't stop it.
One day it won't come back. Things aren't like that.
They stay, their little particular lusters
Warmed by much handling. They almost purr.
When the soles of my feet grow cold,
The blue eye of my tortoise will comfort me.
Let me have my copper cooking pots, let my rouge pots
Bloom about me like night flowers, with a good smell.
They will roll me up in bandages, they will store my heart
Under my feet in a neat parcel.
I shall hardly know myself. It will be dark,
And the shine of these small things sweeter than the face of Ishtar.
36.5k
I beheld you once, oh deceitful goddess, blessed passion’s blight
You were dancing, splendid Ishtar, whose wiles no man may evade
Who’s burning eyes, those entrancing pools of gold, can set men’s souls alight
At who’s dainty feet, to her uncouth delight, the blacken corpse is laid
And I, being no mighty atlas, was swayed by your intoxicating dance
I was caught and bound, to one whose beguiling eyes to me were as a snare
And though it was she, my mortal love, not you, who held me in a trance
I was you, oh Aphrodite, with your amorous charms, that lead me there!
Surely, you foul siren, whose voice does strand the sailor out at sea
Do not as well bring love and solace to some unhappy soul?
Tell me, who brings true love, Aphrodite?
Or are you two as faces on a coin, disparate yet together whole?
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 2:28 AM UTC
****** means "sheath".
Oh, how tiresomely sexist,
this utility.
**** is a sharp word,
but it will only ***** you
if you so insist.
And ********** means
"to stand in for the Goddess" --
both Mother and *****
Fertility cults
of Babylon hailed Ishtar,
the young Sophia.
In Sumerian times
they did call Her Inanna,
who shed Her jewels.
Solomon the Wise
did wed Her in his temple,
and wrote Her a Song.
At Her temple gates
await the harlots, smiling:
yours for but a coin.
Sacred silver thrown,
a rite of passage. Some wait.
Some wait longer still.
Wisdom works through them.
The hierodules of Heaven
beckon, honeysweet.
"Come to the temple,
let us dance the timeless dance,
my Lord Dumuzi!"
Rosy cheeks and lips,
shamelessness in Her power.
Passion at its peak.
Too **** for words.
Men feared Her and wrought cages,
misdirected blame.
Mary, the chaste one,
is an abomination.
Half, and the lesser.
A neutered Mother
with a ****** for swords,
a scabbard for men.
The Grail was stolen
from between Her holy thighs.
Paul was such a ****
A **** who feared Her,
Mystery of Death and Blood.
Much more than a sheath.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC
ome orth azarus, come th laz, ome for zus
echo in the winds outside the empty cave;
In the desert an insurrection
to deluge the earth from cauldrons of faith;
Tinderbox by the Dneiper, an interview stolen;
Dance of Ishtar caged, the demiurge call.
Treading on ice, our mortal lives;
Ancient wells wailing with the earth;
A vessel weathering the storm, sinking
now at Galilee.
At Golgotha, by the empty Crucifix;
it all began here in Bethlehem where we wait.
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
In a desolate desert where peaches are scarce
An oasis appears and a goddess prepares
To ****** her next partner with apples and pairs
And proposing a union she takes me upstairs
Into the skyline and over the weather
To a room in the clouds we inhabit together
The book of life opens, she reads me my rites
Informing my dreams for a thousand more nights
Our foreplay, like Gospel, begins with a word
Whispering wisdom and secrets unheard
While waves of effulgence wash over my ears
And unspeakable lightness conveys me to tears
The courtship completed she lifts up her veil
Undresses her figure and shows me her tail
Her gown on the floor in a soft silky heap
And we drift to the bedroom where cherubin sleep
Melting like butter, collapsing before her
Her miracle strength has me backed in a corner
And so I surrender, no use to resist
Beaten by Ishtar, I wait to be kissed
She spreads herself open, unnaturally wide
Receiving my body and spirit inside
Inserting my tome like a book on her shelf
We form an anthology, bound in one self
No match for a goddess and giver of life
And yet we conjoin as a husband and wife
The muse and the poet are spun in one strand
Just see how my pen is now firm in her hand
With one leg in heaven and one in my bed
I recline and receive her celestial head
Arousing my mind and exchanging our dreams
Through visions that swim in ethereal streams
Perusing her volumes and rarely seen stacks
A scholar who studies the shadows and cracks
I reach out to ****** her wavydark hair
Her substance reflecting like dust in the air
I dip in her inkwell again and again
In search of the words that will flow from my pen
Receiving and giving, a cycle unending
Eternal rewards from the muse I’m befriending
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 4:16 AM UTC
In a Christian world.
The star an ensign.
A symbol.
Pointing out wicked wounds inflicted on Christ .
While was crucified.
By ignorance cruel.
The points denote an insult on his tragic dying soul.
Our saviour saved by pointed pain.
Babylonians long since gone.
Showed Heaven in four quarters.
Jupiter, Mars, Lady Venus and Mercury.
Houses in which archangels dwell.
Quarters denoted by a star.
Ishtar at the top.
Five points, a symbol.
The Grecian star divides by elements.
And beautiful phases of the moon.
Breathe in the air.
Walk on earths mantle.
Let fire not tempt fingers.
Water to extinguish.
Vision on the facets of the luna moon.
Seasonal in phases.
Young moon in spring, with water brings..seen in the West.
Vernal equinox provides the life rebirth.
Moon in youth is the summer brings..Second quarter in the South.
Autumn comes with harvest moon.
Middle age of lunar cycle.
Dry as earth.
Almost barren beauty.
Three quarters of the cycle.
Arises in the east.
During autumns changing face and fruit filled feast.
Coldness carries death in chains brings winter.
In the North faces of the moon.
Hidden in winter nights of death.
Bring on the winter solstice.
The final point I bring to you.
Is in spirituality.
Inspirational!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
you glazed bricks blue
at Ishtar Gate,
deep seas where
lion, bull and dragon dwell
you are featured on
the gold funeral mask of Tut,
adorning his brow line
in deep eternal hues.
your name is summoned
several times
in the Epic of Gilgamesh,
the oldest known piece of literature
known to exist.
your mere
consonance
of L's
and slant
assonances:
eleven tongues licking all my holes.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 12:56 PM UTC
Gilgamesh--two-thirds god, one-third man--was the despot of Uruk. He treated his subjects cruelly. To ameliorate this abominable situation, the gods create Enkidu, who was reared by animals. At first, Gilgamesh and Enkidu fight, but then become friends. They want to cut down a cedar forest that is off limits to mortals. The forest is guarded by a monster, Humbaba, who serves Enlil, the god of earth, wind, and air. With the help of Shamash, the sun god, the two **** Humbaba, then cut down the trees to make a raft. They float back to Uruk. Ishtar, the goddess of love, falls in love with Gilgamesh, but he rebuffs her. Angered, Ishtar asks her father, Anu, the god of the sky, to punish Gilgamesh by bringing down the Bull of Heaven that creates seven years of famine, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu fight and **** the bull. The gods seek revenge and **** Enkidu. Gilgamesh is forlorn, and in his grief begins to wear animals skins. He wanders through the wilderness. Gilgamesh finally meets Utnapishtim to whom the gods have given immortality, but he won't tell Gilgamesh how to gain immortality for himself. Gilgamesh therefore continues his travels, this time through total darkness, until he finnally reaches the sea with its beautiful surroundings. It is there that he meets Siduri. He tells her about his quest for immortality. She responds by telling him to abandon this quest and to learn how to enjoy the pleasures of what remain of the rest of his natural life. Men would die, but humankind would persevere. Gilgamesh is a changed man. He returns to Uruk and sees the city and its people in a different light. He will find meaning and gratification in the years he has left, and humanity will endure.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 1:17 AM UTC
The coldness of my unleashed disinhibitions have gracefully succumbed to the wisdom of cosmological forces, despite my ravenous salivations for all that is vehemently forbidden.
As I bark inside the relief of this solitary pound of articulated and socialised liberty, like an expression of abstract artistry within an ethical mudslide; I continue to teeter upon geographical tightropes which span unforgiving terrains across the ancient divides of propriety, where the baron plains of deuterocanonical origin are populated by restless spirits with gnashing teeth.
So, if they could ever be personified, I could easily butcher a myriad of depravities which tangibly characterise my inner Astarte and Ishtar demons – although, such an event would have to occur after we have engaged in a myriad of abominations where raunchy and indulgent copulations shamefully expose our brazen wantonness to animalistic inclinations.
Never offer to tie me down.
Restriction diametrically opposes my socially skilled yet nomadic being, as it sojourns across a psychedelic array of vibrant gardens, and weaves through present pathways which are timeless in their being.
It just is.
That is the essence of ontology.
Can we ever effectively contemplate the philosophies of predetermination and predestination?
As I am not dichotomous in my thinking, there is a legitimate place for being an omnivore within the walls of our societal fabric.
Although I radically accept that of which I do not approve, the psychology of ambivalence has led me to raise questions around the validity of horticulture.
My clock has melted down the flamboyance of those multicolored mountainsides of being and nothingness.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Aphrodite, Xochiquetzal, Vénus, Ishtar, Astarté !
Oxum, Inanna, Erzulie Freda
Mes muses en Kâlî polycéphale réunies,
Venez vous ébattre et débattre avec moi !
Et vêtez le masque des savantes hétaïres,
Des nagaravadhu, des femmes matadore
Des tayu, des ahuianime, des harots
Et autres courtisanes de lumière,
Rhétoriciennes scandaleuses d'antan,
Pour m'initier à l'Intime quintessence
Des mystères de vos fils Kama, Eros, Cupidon.
J'ai choisi pour vous, les Immortelles,
La tenue mortelle des Métèques :
Entre Shamhat, la Joyeuse sumérienne
Amrapali , Vasantasena,
Basaui, Kulika, les tantriques
Shinano, Sakura et Bunsui
Diotime, prêtresse Mantinéote
Aspasie, la belle Milésienne,
Omphale, la Lydienne qui domina Hercule,
Lasthénéia, Nicarété, les grandes maquerelles,
Phryné, de son vrai nom Mnésarétè, la demoiselle,
La pudibonde muse de Praxitèle,
Puis encore Thargélia, qui devint reine
Impéria qui vécut en beauté pendant vingt-six ans et douze jours
Veronica, Lamia, Nééra,
Laïs qui vous dédia son miroir,
Toutes érudites catins de haute volée,
Porte-paroles d'Eros,
Indomptables et puissantes concubines
D'amour et d'intelligence,
Je ne peux décider
Avec qui convoler au Banquet des Sophistes ?
Certaines m'enflamment la chair
D'autres l'esprit et l 'âme
Et pour toutes cependant sans exception
Je bande d'égale vigueur.
"Amour, ont assuré ces maîtresses
Au disciple fervent que je suis,
N 'est ni divin ni humain
Ni beau ni laid
Ni bon ni méchant
Amour est un démon, un sorcier
Un magicien, un entremetteur...
Si j 'en crois ces rhétoriciennes,
Honorer l 'Amour
C'est désirer le Beau, assouvir
L 'impérissable désir d'immortalité.
On aime car on engendre
On aime car on féconde
On aime car on se reproduit
Pour les siècles des siècles.
Et c'est Ilithyie qui nous accouche
et nous délivre de la mortalité par la conception et l'enfantement.
Le Beau est éternel
Ce n'est pas un Beau physique
Mais métaphysique
Qu 'il nous faut reproduire
Par des joutes sensuelles
Pour tendre vers l 'immortalité.
Fécondez-moi donc et en honorant la courtisane,
La Métèque, qui vibre sous chacun de vos masques
J 'honore l 'Amour à travers vous,
Mes Etrangères,
Peu importe si mon amour est socratique,
Aristotélicien, platonique ou épicurien
Pour peu que j 'accouche de mes pensées lubriques.
Et si je meurs en couches
Qu'on me célèbre à travers tous vos panthéons
Comme le plus valeureux des guerriers !
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 2:17 AM UTC
I built the playhouse
To withstand
The seige of time.
Like Hadrian,
I dismayed the border people.
Starlight shone through
Crescent moons
Like the Ishtar Gate of Babylon.
Children shrieked and wailed
Against those walls
As nomads in northern China,
Or Philistines in Jeruselum.
But time is a formidable outsider,
And my small walls would tumble
To the blasts of tempus trumpets.
My hand runs lovingly across
Your names on those
Memorial Walls.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Burning bridges.
Originally, defined as follows –
Intentionally cutting off one’s retreat.
In the words of the immortal Caesar,
As he crossed the Rubicon, unwilling to concede defeat -
Let the die be cast.
A bloodbath that built an Empire,
Stretching wide, impossibly vast.
Thus, later meaning –
To alienate former friends.
Is it an act to be reviled?
Is it an act to be condemned,
An instance of passions running wild?
Or is it an act to be emulated?
A last resort when hope for reconciliation
Has been all but desecrated?
We need connections, hope and love –
We crave Ishtar’s white dove,
A blessing from ‘the Queen of Heaven’.
Yet, by the time the night’s hour numbers eleven,
Many of us are collapsing, battered;
Relapsing in toxicity, our spirit tired and scattered.
When our soul is shared with others,
It goes one of two ways;
With the right influence, it grows and flutters.
With the wrong kind, it falters and stutters.
Trust your gut –
If you get a feeling that says, Run,
Do so as if you were an Olympic athlete
And you just heard the starting gun.
Do not compress yourself
To fit the boxed-in view of someone else.
Do not edit or trim out a single verse
From the poetry that is your life.
Live freely, choose wisely,
Wield a voice that is steely, treat yourself and others kindly,
Stand ALONE if you have to.
In other words, some bridges need to be burnt;
Some lessons need to be learnt.
For sometimes it is better to burn the bridge as you retreat
Than to keep on fighting just to avoid defeat.
Caesar might have violently conquered all his opponents,
But in the end did it matter
When his own kinsmen were his assassination’s proponents?
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 4:29 AM UTC
I don't honor Easter
Bunnies hoppin' on one leg
I have no taste
For colored "peeps"
Or chocolate Easter eggs
Thanks to
Emperor Constantine
We have this pagan brew
I find the worship of Ishtar
Has me in a stew!
The holidays of pagans!
And to see events of Christ
Blended in with all of it
Has my stomach in a vice!
Take your rabbits
And your "Ishtar" eggs
I'll just have to pray
I'd just prefer to call this time
RESURRECTION DAY!
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 7:37 AM UTC
built on wishes
like snowy roads and clementines
never fully sinking in or forming
into the endless avenues of adventure
and taking things way too far
then suddenly
BOOM
here you are
b i r t h
is imminent
d r e a m s
are real
i m p o s s i b l e
is done
you are here with me
f o r e v e r
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC
Your love seems to every morning
Clouding by darkest wind
I'm driest as slime
Oh you , Oh soul
Take my tear
And pick up my candle
Poor in my happiness
Days and me !
Without you in lethargy
Plonk there , and here !
Will you come?
Take him from here
A Heart didn't roaring
No longer revenging
Take him ,oh Ishtar
If he belong to antar
Afflicted to your love
You ,Oh blondy
I'll sailing without get boring
Poseidon wishing me leaving
I'll foraying hearts doesn't get bored
& Villages and grain
Singing a love without illness
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
You're in hell,
a fractioned
ghost, eating
clay and dust.
You suppose
time moves
in this abyss
but there's no
way to be sure.
Then:
a scream
at the gates
like all the
winds that
scrape at
the heart.
& it doesn't
take long
before the screams
resolve to a name:
Ishtar is here.
She of *** war,
& the moon, all
of them long
absent in
this place.
She wants in,
to rule this
forsaken empire,
to take it from
her older sister,
to conquer
one more thing.
She fails,
of course.
Her sister
tricks her,
leaves her
naked,
without her
powers,
after the
final gate.
Ishtar howls,
and leaves
to eat men
like easy grain.
But imagine
that brief
moment,
when you
think that
maybe, just
maybe, you'd
see the organza
ball of moon
again, that
you and the one
next to you
might embrace
in shaded lust,
engender
a new empire
in the dark,
& overthrow it all.
Hold on to
your hope:
Ishtar has
never been
patient.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 2:44 PM UTC
I can taste the dark ancestry of ghastly dreams where cloven hooves and flickering flames dance along the castle hallways in ritualistic celebration; and I love the night, where haunting apparitions caress my slippery soul and tantalise my deepest fears.
Listen to the grandfather clock, as its hypnotically audible awareness transports our being to a myriad of dusty volumes upon the ancient shelves of a Golden Dawn.
Owls are beautiful creatures of nocturnal stealth.
Yet, the beginning is nothing more than the end, in her deceptive disguises.
Although their are eight points to her identity, Ishtar has innumerable expressions. Therefore, attempts to domesticate are futile.
Let us now invoke ancient daemons and engage in the wisdom of counsel, as we remain awake and share our confessions.
Men are visual creatures.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
And darkest the night when all seems
lost, parts thick the blanket of fog;
Desiccated to the bone when
moonless in agony,
go emptied of Spirit the skies,
Broken in Her temples,
desecrated in the shrines
veiled, chained, burned at stake;
Scattered lays She,
as hope among the stars.
Among a thousand tribes risen,
to burst forth again,
Diana and Ishtar, Athena and Brigid,
crimson the rays that flood
regnal the horizon in waves;
Who casts time in the thrall of Her dice
fire cannot burn, nor weapons hurt,
who measures worlds in Her strides,
the black rose, Mistress of the night,
Garlanded in skulls of a thousand such
who know not Her might
whose hands sewn Her garment great
trampled death under Her thunder trail
Here She comes the ancient One:
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 12:17 PM UTC
When I wake up,
it is void.
Then the room
unfolds around me –
a cold stroke of reality.
It brushes my skin,
crawling up my legs,
slowly warming as it spreads.
A hand, unseen,
caresses reality
into my chest.
It straddles me,
then softly grips my neck.
The pulse in my ears – slow –
becomes the drums of war,
calling a name:
Ishtar.
It’s time.
Breathe for me,
sweat for me.
Let the footsteps
of your fight
feed the ground.
Soak it in my will –
become my altar.
Your sword
bears my truth.
Crescent moons –
my mark –
cover your back.
Eight-pointed stars –
my sign –
won’t leave you in the dark.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 8:59 AM UTC
Just as
God has
The Father
The Son, and
The Holy Spirit
The man of prediction
Will have the dark Trinity;
Baal. Ishtar, Moleck
The god of
Baal
The deceiver
Removing God
from the church
the government.
Removing prayer
from the schools.
Removing Jesus
from the
market place.
God does. not stay
where he is not wanted!
Absence of God, chaos begins
Indoctrinating the children of sin
A pagan world begins to rule the Earth
Ideology wars changes
the nature of education
****** indoctrination
no age is too young
Woke America is born
Children bought, sold
Aphrodites are born
Ritual killings. pleasing gods
The
goddess
Ishtar
Wife of
Baal
cultures
through centuries
Known by many names
Enchantress, Aphrodite,
Venus. Diana
characteristics; wild
fanatic ******
deviances
Her perversions
have no bounds.
****** appetite Devours
Her imagination runs wild
In a dystopian society
Aphrodite is a goddess
that can change from
man to a woman
And from a
woman to man
*** is fluid
Death of the
Traditional family
Beta blockers
given to children
As young as seven
Society can
No longer determine
what is a woman.
Reduced to a
baby receptacle
by definition.
Men now can
give birth.
****** perversions
openly. show
the agenda,
a man in a dress
with a wig and a
beard and a mustache.
with male genital
can shower
and dress in
the locker room
with young girls
Appropriate Pronouns, please
when feelings
instead. of Facts
rule the day.
Moleck
The destroyer
Killer of babies and
humans for sacrifice
New York, California
created a bill of
infanticide.
A baby can be
killed up to
28 days
after birth.
Corners
are not. allowed
to question
the death of a baby
63 million abortions
were sacrifice
given to
the god. of Moleck
May 2, 2023
May 2, 2023 at 12:49 AM UTC
Society Society Society Gladstone Here you mentioned it, she met the woman, sitting at the right hand of the robot & life being the Jinn and Bob in England, our light; Offer for itself, ignorantly unknown to the knowledge and customer service of the female bobbysocks who have computerized angels of the leaves and coming into the garden are their sacrifices, prophets, to eat, in the middle - on the development of companies to enter the Star of Park, the wife of Asia, has focused on being the best revolution and Christian children near Bettie to take in the world's dining center at the heart Dumuzid [and] ancient materials to make vegetables for the first human herders Manuel, Manuel (later Ishtar). Old English, Sumerian, Dumuzid Geshtinanna and woman and goddess of the earth. The size of each of the footsteps of the Sumirian kings listed in the city of Dunezid, which was futile, and early in the morning by walking on the representative of the Prosecutor, Manuel Sumerian like Handmade Dumuzid with his hand, Manuel pees. This manual of Hell Hell blinded Doozid's death while undermining the brain, which allowed the demons to slip into small levels.
Ishtar Tammuz Canterbury Canterbury Epic 6 from the past image in the bird from the bottom of all is thrown into action. In the eyes exposed to grass in the last summer summer Dumuzid Dumuzid died, in one year. During the summer and the middle name of all the people in our state in Iraq, the noise of grief. Last year, experts have thought that you have the right to use the Summitian Old Age holiday or fall into the practice of saving a boy when Dumuzid Manuel wants to be part of the wedding.
Has a course of education given the Sumerian opportunity to be given.
And the songs for Greece Dumuzid turned to East, the West Semitic name.
And the land was, and in many parts of Mesopotamia, to the end of the nine hundred and twenty years. Many worshipers worshiped the gods Tammuz, Ezekiel, from the Hebrew Bible, and whether he moved to another position. is at the point of death. This is "death to the East, obviously that the scholars and cities ... Glorious ******* was done because of the failure of the First Way of Direction, starting from the house, which has a white throne at the bottom of the intestinal luster and his eyebrows see an example of an example that would be a pair of towels on the opposite side to pursue those who fought, showing that both of them were Wolff's writers, women, gods, by example, as it has always been a new way to increase the rights of children on the Lord's shadow, on the right hand of one who sees the image of a part of the air.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:48 PM UTC
I'm silent violent and crazy. Summoning the dark prince because HE raised ME. I never went to school because of the late night rapings. redrum because of my wrecked ****** I was just a 9 year old baby. Outbursts of rage left me without a mother to save me from the gapings. 3 ****** years my *** was an elders for the taking. I dropped out of school and lost all my education. I found drugs and only used girls for ****** *********** I never saw hope, so to say i lost it would be mistaken. To find myself would only be to find Satan. Dressed in all black naked, on an alter of virgins blood bathing. My frontal cortex is a vortex of anger from the poorest. If Lucifer holds the light of the world, then the sky I'm'a torch it. With the strength of Ishtar's forces. Trying to stop me, will be the train that leaves your body from your soul deported.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC
Our dance is trance,
Paint my eyes red,
Lips slightly parted,
wet iron and ash,
I breathe you out,
You hold me in,
One move, one cut,
thousand more,
they fold, mother soaks,
stars behind open eyes,
every drop marks our path.
Hands melt in hours,
body warm, stone of yours
Twin snakes of bones,
dance of souls.
Not mine or yours.
Chameleon daggers,
battle stars,
morning awaits,
dusk to dust cover us.
Witness of the Moon,
child of Bloom,
Legit forged in battle,
Take by two, left as one
Sacred kingdom of sun,
Grey of food, black fruit:
sweetness of soul,
Drip on my chin,
flow free in chant.
Now altar of yours.
I eat your rage, take your blade,
Feed my hunger, tear apart,
clothes torn, ripped wings,
morning sparks.
That's when you rule,
I give my body, will is yours,
till the next night...
When blade of hunger comes.
Gold and red, skins are shred.
Breath the earth as I demand.
Crescent moons, between knees,
ringed sun, crowned path.
I touch ruby and emerald,
Became a prism, to peel the sun.
My voice is river,
your body is the current.
Mountains of will around,
shoulder blades to hold,
tells a story of the old.
Now we curve into one again,
Fed for good, left to loose,
Eyes became mouth, spreads us.
Freedom of day and night,
Felt more sacred,
than one of the eye.
Other is turned to whisper
of trust. Pantheon without us.
How could they bear that was told
Laws became our holds.
Until we meet again:
in echoes, breathes.
Not day and night,
but warmth and light.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 9:52 AM UTC