" Love makes all of us Oracles of the Gods.
It moves the world, It is the Sire;
The Divine did nothing before She knew Love
And his twin sister, Desire."
- Eros Ex Machina, Julius Castrocari

apart from lilies

the long thin purple
coverer stretches over
the tightly wounded 
black olive-taste hair
hiding your frail mien

it is almost like a
resignation weakly on
terminal support when
tears reek the scented
humility in surrender

you can't wear the 
colour red as passion

your past is unwritten
while the coming days
remain undecided
when all that survived
live in the shadow

white bouquet in hands
drags another mile
of silent conformity 
while men build walls 
around their properties

apart from lilies
we've gold in roses

Red eyes

In the dark room
the sense of touch
is my brethen
breathing light -
I can see your
red eyes hidden in
the corner where 
the recesses never 
came to be -
all of existence
is lost in this
lock-up, welling
every oneiric 
sorrow in this
vessel of apathy.

I wish I could
heal your eyes...
working dimensions
in one last hope
perfecting every
possibilities now -
this moment, tonight

the burning man

My collective now picks
shards of the angry and sad
to piece back a reflection
seven years in curse

But the bane now wanes
on a furrow of painted lethargy
as the grey brittle dredges of 
journey's end now gather again

Like a tiring harvest,
swathing my homage sickle
darkly clothed now in life
I become the wheat-tress

The burning takes place
on a red hill in red passion
spirit lifting up to the Lady
planting hopes in red soil

A Red Flame

A red flame flickers between
the Wurlitzer and her player
In the dust of drunken night
tremours the disjointment of anger

Curtain robes are now purple red
counting by the decaying hours
the last sand falls deep below
as she sing songs of powers

Around dance the dark silhouettes
shrouding their mournful agony,
a host they depart frenzy in flight
wailing echoes of their monstrosity.

A red flame flickers between
the Wurlitzer and her player
and in her chant we wake to
find ourselves embracing her.

Soliloquy of Azazel

you say I'm like
a statue of olden myth
carved off a stone block
that never dies, living
eternally in damnation

while no one hears
hears my silent scream

this little girl in red
walks past my abandoned garden
and placed flowers
for me
for me

you say my fixated
stare scares you as if
I'm already consumed by
the primal lust, seething
with nascent instinct

while no one wants
to believe I still love

this little girl in red
comes to tend my sordid fortune
and sang a song
for me
for me

even the fallen knows of love
even they can love
why can't I?

a mark on my lips

Across me you stood
wavering, unsmiling,
an omen of death
by the bed of roses
by the bed of roses
where she lies

hearing your coming
i open the doors
letting me flow
by the bed of roses
by the bed of roses
allowing you in

but you never came
distance tore hope
a mark on my lips
by the bed of roses
by the bed of roses
my dreams perish

Abundance Prayer

Madame of the Rose
blooming eternal, in secret love
hair of gold falls loosely -
lightly touch on gray earth.
Spring now hides not thy face,
when Niamh rides across thy field.
Thy dance of abundance sacred,
hallowing winter's ground,
stirring serpent down the mound,
breathing wake from slumber.
Grant bounty coming my way,
falling from stars of thy ordain.
most humblest I pray -
garlands to thy glory.
May I thrive, Great Mercy.

written by simon soon © 2002

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