Angelic
And so it is, that both the Devil and the angelic Spirit present us with objects of desire to awaken our power of choice. There is an invisible strength within us; when it recognizes two opposing objects of desire, it grows stronger ( Rumi)
She is an angelic Aphrodite,
with thorns and thistles
in her myrtle heart,
disguised as a martyr
veiled in burgundy blues,
a savior in need
of a lion armor.
As the tainted world
lured her to be the
temptress of twilight,
blindfolded by
paper butterfly wings,
handcuffed by
porcelain pearls
and lilac lace;
she finds herself,
searching for blood
diamond truth to
uncloak what grows
beneath the orchid sun.
She never promised
that her peaking rays
of spring would
silence your storms.
For she strolls obliviously,
dressed in onyx winter,
as she tastes of
sinful summer evenings,
wearing a crown of
sublime sunflowers,
too piercingly divine
for unprepared eyes.
She has constantly
been shoved deep
into an estuary of emotions,
where turquoise ripples
fade into blazing blue
wisps of nothingness,
among dimmed stars
in the soul of midnight.
If only she knew,
not every spellbinding
gaze meant "love" woven
in threads of
a thriving future;
there’s always
blistering agony
brewing beneath
constellations of
fluttering gems,
though she questions
the silver light that
radiates from
the moon in her mind.
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