There is still life moving through these withered veins,
the sap of the plants and trees has dried up
and retreated into the core of my heart,
seeds frozen over
just as you are in Hell.
I cannot say that the world sleeps quietly
because of the grief that connects us,
because of your absence- it is a starving, lean torpor
a hateful loneliness
for the one who was meant to be mine,
my Other, my Self,
my ripped away will to thrive,
like the trees raped of their leaves by the bitter Borean wind.
The life within me howls to be brought forth,
for my nature is to bring forth life
and if I have to brave that frigid Underworld,
the cold, cold marital bed your virgin body is shackled to
then I will come with torches blazing
and bring you into this world again,
my dark daughter, my dead bride, the soil seeded with death
invading the depths with my burning vitality
plundering the greatest, purest treasure of cryptic Hades
and grow ’round you like a vine made of adamant
thorny and vicious and dire,
never to be far from my sight again.
Another one of my poems for the Demeter devotional. The solicitation email if being drafted and it should go out soon. Now begins the period of harassment.
The image of trees being raped by the wind goes to my partner, Fr. Freeshadow.