"Thrown and defeated, the woman
slept through the age of night
and she waited for the morning
for the light that will wake..." - Pouck Robyn's Lore

September

The womb harvested,
the sacrifice made.
In her splendorous beauty
the mother bends and kisses
the earth - death. All
withers, golden and toast,
and we the receiver, reap.

September is a dance of
the bounty and the yielding
of the good earth.

There she lays
exhausted but pleased,
that we're laughing
and crying, joyful
in tears that streams
from our little hearts.

Stirring and deep,
it cleanses our sins and
returns us to innocence.

Lucy's Eyes

She's a glow in the matins
and twilight vespers kiss
a sudden rapture, her bosom
erupts, spilling abundance
of her glorious blood milk.

She's a tender sleepy night
the trees that weep and sigh
the cold lonely road where
a lady stands with a lantern
and a mirror in her hand.

She's Lucy of the night,
she's Lucy of your love,
She's Lucy in her hearse-song
she's Lucy in her wedding-dress.

the bride

Her dress is the tress of death
lockings and laces flowing
from the altar where benediction
vibrate through solemn air

The saggy countenance of him
whose hand lays Godly blessings
now place his icy sceptre on
her wet eyes, as he pronounce.

The bride offers her soft hands
while water flows from her cusps,
her jewels rest in her bosom
as she turns and receive a kiss.

matrimony

She's a sin dress in white
the pale coloured bells that
ring her demise - a demise of
the flesh, a demise of spirit
       when her bouquet of frangipani
       rots with the scent of hell

I comprehend not her insistence -
her joyous tumble into the hall
rosy-lipped one, she strides
in confidence down the aisle
       when all eyes will rest on her bosom
       as the red milk floods her smile

Matrimony, the vow of her life
for which she lays on the cross
a solemn exchange of her vessel
for a man she knows only by touch.
         when each consumes the other's breath
         she slips her fate into his arms.

Uranium

Uranium by the bedpost
waiting to explode
nobody detonates 

she then disappears
like a willow o' wisp

scars on chamber walls
remind me she exists
and will come again

on a night of tears
she's my deadly butcher

Atoning Lucy

She lies bleeding
on the marble dance floor

her pool of blood is
the sacrifice of Israel

And the story of a 
wandering goat lives
further in prophecies
of old Abraham

inheriting
another name in our
modern context

No one gives her
a hand, she's the
sin of the chosen
to the holy throne,
where a feeble king
rule the sky in fear

of the mortal dream,
slipping and changing,
and feeding Lucy
with new life.

there came angels
kissing and caressing
her wounds
they touched earth
and saw her beauty,

she is part of
the endless,
she is part of
the chanting,
she flies tonight
to the throne,

an atonement

the king rules
in fear and in
the sands that
will carry him
back to oblivion
in the fading desert

She's having an abortion

When do you hear
a rumble in the womb?
When does the delicate
fabric tear and the
knitting smeared with
blood raining in visions?

My eyes do not hear
the last cry piercing
through the stillness
of a trembling night

A man to the camera
mantras to humanity
when the ashes do dust
our state of fire.

The calmness before the
storm like the flashing
stars concurring a peaceful
galactic conference
when the box projects,
the washing of the uterus. 

She's having an abortion,
we're being washed out,
for another ovulation,
and hopefully, hopefully,
she's going to have
beautiful babies.

After fall

It's those eyes
that tell me
after fall,
you're given
something special.

A spiral kiss
tantric magic

Where can you love?
Down the tunnel
groping the sides
to sustain the
core of delight.

Close those eyes,
transported to
the stars, you
know love, and
her story.

written by simon soon © 2002

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