Goddess of storm and dissidence, Lilith
begot by spurious legend and foolish myth
in the dark recesses of pastoral histories
where ancient mysteries
Apollo's seed, by Roman Empire
inquisitional rules inquire, to her whereabouts
seeping fetid doubts, in the bones of the survivors.
Submission required by slave drivers,
And the Elite,
now on Wall Street.
Twenty five generations later,
they still hate her...
I see her in me, shadows of malcontent,
when passed by for promotion
and toxic lotion is sold to keep us young.
I hear her forked tongue,
when my voice is ignored again,
when single mothers barely maintain
poverty existence led
as punishment for being
Burkas hide the bruises
and we’ve run out of excuses
why so many women are poor.
Our beloved men are sent to war
for corporate profits made
and taxes paid in blood and tears.
Yes I have fears.
I fear her rolling up through me, if they only knew me
and what I hold back, they would attack,
and mark me feminist bytch,
I hear her whisper from sister to brother
from father to mother, lover to lover...
I feel her emerging with Pele’s fire,
Aphrodite’s desire and Venus’s lust.
She is part of us, the Mother’s curse,
foist in the never ending thirst for power
and dominance over all.
Eden’s free fall, orchestrated, ill-fated,
out-dated and reciprocated,
by us, still now, somehow.
The sacred dance beckons us in the second rush
of knowing... rivers flowing, ever to sea.
What will be, will be...
lost in the slipstream currents of the paradigm whore
who dares seek safe passage
to our shore.