Lilith
A dweller in waste places,
a void in foggy darkness,
the unseen shadow that trails us.
A doom that curses benign plants.
A tenacious panting wolf feeding
off the sorrows of the soil.
She's the cold gaze of the night.
Lethality of manchineel and apple
of the deadly nightshade, the spike
of morning glory and wake of angels
trumpet. She withers the air with her
slimy touch. Her hunt, a siren of poison ivy.
She watches the bell of despair ring
into the depths of her prey as she
dances to their web of enchanted snares. She's the doom of every broken spine, the lingering fright In reoccurring nightmares.
A blinded sailor in wails of
the night storm. The immortal
queen of hell. In her truth of
mysterious lies, she is Amaya, Ebony,
Leila. Her tangling names hanging
in the fiery flames of her eyes.
Bellona, Raven, her roaming tales.
Tempest, Katrina, Loki,
brimstone, Mara, Bela, Podo,
a queen in diverse names
she praises. Morana, Louhi,
Lilith the night's own in untold battles.
A cloak of choked silence
in the wander of her losses,
a hundred babes a day she bore,
yet stolen from her in eternity.
A piercing wild cry for snatched
souls' birth at night. And if she took
or ate babies, it was a return, to satiate
her feminine grief in her golden cage
of poised facade, and depths of chaos.
She's a duality in a villains mask.
For every villain created, a silent haunting hurt was made. And their stories are
hidden in the darkness they carry out.
I see her wings flapping at every mishap.
Because she had a mind of her own she wouldn't have fallen for that sly act the serpent carried out on Eve and maybe everything would be different.
We would have joined in her space of immortality but now her hair flows like
the streams of Venus's vengeance.
Her piercing eyes, cut deep into any
soul that thinks her evil. She's the
night and terror itself.
Maybe Lilitu and Lamashtu would tell her tales but she forbids them to speak as she would not crawl in victimisation.
Her beauty is seduction itself and she
carries her demoness torturing self
into the fear of men that dream.
Winds have whispered that
she is a rebellious death,
the red threads that tie us
to the blackness of our past.
But we all know how uncertain
the wind can be. It carries a virus
of lies along its twist of deliveries,
without a hint. And in the cave of our
mind, a dark side of Lilith lives in us all.
Most primal and hidden in the subconscious.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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