The Heart and the Thorns

I am a girl of the rose
Some pale perfect
Some dripping in rich blood colour
Some of spiritual rare essence

It is a fragrance and a signature
That I wear with pride

To be lush
And rich
Delicate and decadant
Gentle and cruel
In its beauty

These never ending contrasts
Are the mystery
The Power
I carry in my veins

Rest me in your hands
At a lover's waist
Upon a loved one's grave
I am a sign of all the fire that burns in you

Dripping in nectar
I will drunken and stupify
All those who lick upon me
And I will enjoy and adore
Those foolish smiles on their faces

Sweet and tender
I am handled
Cruel and unloving
I am abused
And I am used to both touches

But nothing scars upon my perfection
Nothing destroys all that is esoteric

The petals will fall
The perfume will dry
The plant will fade and die
But I...

I can never die
For I am beyond my physical constraints

I am that memory
That passion
Those tears
That sorrow
The pain
The pleasure

And the Love

And this is where my life is
Everlasting

A Reminder Inside

If Love touched your heart
Would you run?
That deceptive imp
That cruel faced lier
How little you are actually there

I've seen the derangement
The torture
The ridicule, the breaking
And the complete destruction.

I've witnessed the coldness
The frost tipped points
Of a never burning
'Love'

So why try?
Why bother with the charade?
Is there ever a difference?

Perhaps because
Hate
Burns so much worse
And hardens all
Ice

But we have to try

But we must
Keep our wings
To ourselves.

Soul, Memories and Glass

My god, my god!
My dark and deadly
God

Who burns inside this heart
Composed of layers
Of broken glass
And shattered illusions
And piles of disappointment
And the quiet cries and whimpers
Of a little girl

And do these make me weak?
A little pathetic being?
Has it made me give up
The goddess
In me?

They both wear crowns
Him
The Black Prince
Her
The Red Queen

They contain all that is ever good
Or ever bad
About being an androgyne

But he is a prince
And she a queen
His persona does not encompass all
And her shadow does not emerge so often

But they are me
And they never let me be

For they are not meant to
That would make life too simple
Too sweet

And the sugar would burn my tongue
In a sickening way

I need the hollow
And the brutal
The beauty
In the disease

So curse me in
Pain
And reward me in
Pleasure

For I am grateful for it all

This is the life I chose
Not a settle
Not a dream
A reality
Made of dreams
Illusions
And screened

But I refuse to think
I have been unfair

To cry
To shout
To curse the air

This is me
In perfection and hate
In flaws and love

And I
Adore
Every moment of it!

Gods, Idols and Belief in One's Self

Should I cast
A thousand demons on to the Earth
A thousand angels into the sky

Would that define me?
And signal me-
Would I become marked and scarred?

Could I ever release
The wonderous whims
Fragments of holy vision
From my mind?
Or, would I continue to be lost?

I call Hell
High water
Tides of blood
And it all means nothing

I still pray upon cold feet
Solid hands grasped around dripping candle wax

I've envisioned myself
A perfect entity
A child of God
A heavenly being
A demonic mistake

Plain, ordinary...

I exist beyond all these things

Colour of my Horse

Other little girls, picture a prince on a white horse
As a child
I always imagined
Myself
On a black horse.

Samael, Lilith and whatever name You call It

To be the fallen
The felled
The one's destroyed
There must of been the one's who won

Was it ever a true battle?
A fair fight?
Was there ever a chance I could have won?
Or was it all a tease?
Was I always destined to lose?
Was this meant to be?

Tell me, sky's above
Were you always planning on casting me out?
Was my pride too much for you?
Could I not be the Morning Star?
Was I truly such an abberation?

Now my skin is scarred
By the people
By my commrades
My brothers in arms
My family

Could not one such as me be left alone?

You did this to me!
Left me here with nothing
Only a belly full of lead
My insides forever in ill
My outsides forever burning
And I'm not sure this is the prison of my own creation.

Seems to me, if you always knew
Why bother with me?
Did you let destiny dictate
Your treatment of me?
Did I let destiny do the same?

Perhaps we were both fooled
Both led astray
And that I do regret

The sins of the father
The reflection of the son
And also a daughter

I am beyond destiny.

Beth

Creativity could be like a storm- huge and thunderous, ready to pound into a fragile body. Mine is this tinkling bell, a little voice, this tiny little sweet imp that compels me to pick up a pen, one of my books, and insists upon being recored on the page. It likes tangibility, it likes existence. It wants a safe place to land, because even the most beautiful and free of thoughts need to rest for a moment.