Email Poem

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Poem

My daughter, my Queen
as Solomon said, you are above
the crown on my head
from rubble and stone
gates for a throne
Queen, daughter, Queen
mysterious home 
of pride and lust
forgive me intrust
not what man will give
but take what you must
Power you wield
no doubt in my vein
the blood that is cold 
in warmth you will claim
what is your position
with faith as a seed
man whose fruition
is boasting to bleed
my Queen my throne
thorn in my head
blessed of water
ancient we shed
blackened cough
scares in the skin
Queen have you paid 
too much for a sin
remember the garden
fruit of the sun
you offered me there
a kingdom undone
naked your breast
no temple of shame
I took of your fruit
gave you my name
Queen prophetic
knowing us so
Why you embrace
our invisible soul
sure, God willed
or something the same
man of the dust
woman the rain
Queen of a temple
so Godless, until 
Queen, oh my daughter
your blossom would heal

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