1. |
Systrophe
06:08
|
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|
Conceal, don't cleave.
Come down, then breathe.
Hold fast onto
what you once showed,
what you once knew,
and you once trowed.
See; every eye mocks jaded shine
Those tricky trees fall into line
My feet cling to the coma clouds:
My toes and legs but leaves and boughs.
Once more: Arouse!
From where once elderflowers grew
A tarnish creeps into my view
Obscure, yet relied
Distrust, I confide.
You feast on me
while I drift deeper.
I ingrain into you
Attentive sleeper
With blackened brow and cloying tongue
A vast of hymns remain unsung.
I feast on you
Your hands are mine
We're cyan chimes,
Are scarlet twine.
Unlashed, long-lost
Awake again,
First orage-tossed
remorseful then.
In awe I kneel, indign, am slight:
A poached enigma in anthracite light.
Epiphany lingers, deriding disguise
Vestige of my ruin, reroot in the skies.
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2. |
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Once Lilith came to speak to me:
"See, I'm your seed, you are my tree.
To heavens high your rage shall strive
Grow buds and brenches, shine and thrive!
You precious child, sweet sprout of mine
follow my call, my love divine!"
Her voice was gale, but oh so bright.
Her teeth flashed up in pearly white
A smile so frail,
and eyes so fierce
she smelled like bale,
like lust and tears.
So, what I was is petty now
What I'll become, a seedy vow
I'm tearing down. It was, we were.
What's left is artworks, marked by her.
And from the fragments of my deed
my self-sown stones sprout fragile feet
of anxious hope and blackest ink
still longing for a glimpse, a blink.
While piece by piece fall into place
they even grow, get strong, gain grace.
Lilith's still here and I'm her child
I am as uncertain as wild.
She trapped me in and set me free.
I'm my own seed, I am a tree.
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