Mantis, the Celestial Madonna
A silent spire of emerald glass,
She kneels where stellar shadows pass.
Her spine, a curved and sacred beam,
Reflecting the cosmic dream.
With folded hands of quiet blade,
She watches empires bloom and fade,
A Madonna in the void, alone,
On a throne of crystallized ozone.
This one brings the silence near,
The prophetess, the astral seer.
Antennae weaving threads of light,
Through the velvet tapestry of night,
Telepathy in hues of green,
Connecting worlds she has not seen.
The Cotati whispered in her ear,
The prophecy of the pioneer.
Her eye, a galaxy of deep velvet black,
Holds no memory of the beaten track.
She wears the starlight as her veil,
Where mortal human efforts fail.
Her child, the seed of plant and star,
Reaches through the cosmic jar,
A Messiah nurtured in the bloom,
Rescuing the flower from the tomb.
Oh, Mantis of the starry gown,
Who turns the velvet darkness down,
She bites the lover’s breath away,
And turns the darkness into day.
A saint of death, a mother of life,
Severing the human strife.
Between the sword and the living tree,
She balances eternity.
She is the garden in the void,
By time and terror unalloyed.
The Celestial Mother, emerald-eyed,
With the universe at her side.
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