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.