Elisabeth Writing

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You had a wreath of roses on your curly hair mane,

A lion in the garden of night,

Devouring springtime and beauty,

To sustain your numinous life.

The golden boy, the loved, the desired,

The Prince of flowers and game,

And I am the Goddess of Death,

Ghosts and sadness and shame.

The souls I had taken were tattooed,

All over my breasts and my skin,

The curve of my stomach and hip bones,

The tendrils the markers of sin.

Darkness shouldn’t love sunshine,

Shadows are in lust with the moon,

But I craved the thought of you as mine,

And shunned the thought of monsoons.

The Lord of the Spring,

The Son of the Earth,

The Lady of Midnight,

The Daughter of Rebirth.

I craved you more every day,

And wept in my silent tomb,

Withered garlands at my feet,

An emptiness in my womb.

I planned it all out, I won’t lie dear.

How I’d steal you away from your

Mother,

Where you’d succumb to my siren dark kisses,

And become my luminous,

Lover.

All I wanted was a child to care for,

With pale eyes and lips like pink lace,

And I’d send you back to the ether,

With sweet memories of your face.

But in that palace of ebony marble,

Where souls would cry out in despair,

You kept finding chinks in my armor,

And crystal flowers bloomed, so rare,

Until I was surrounded by beauty

Where each night you grew me a heart,

Your seraphim grin so fatal,

I feared I’d shatter apart.

I didn’t intend to adore you,

Persephone, the beauty, my boy.

I didn’t intend to love you,

For Hades can’t feel things like joy.

That is 

When the eternal night

Ended and,

You fed me to the light.