Lilith is the violinist, the violin, the note
stretching like a grant jeté across a stage.
She’s the summer straw hat ray of sun
breaking through sad face winter clouds.
She’s the last grateful smiling hallelujah
in the mournful choir humming a cappella.
Lilith is the steel blue motionless whispers,
of that arresting gaze demanding silence.
Lilith is the hushed interlude drawing you
to the heart of an interstellar black hole.
She’s the winged child serpent goddess
contained in an eruption of angelic power.
Lilith is the innocence of desire calling
in passion to be beheld but never owned.
Your cries I will hear not
Not from your bell towers
or your minarets
Your inner chambers
or from your public places
There is a child crying
It calls me by my name
you hear it not
You say that thing is not mine
So I say I know you not.
I traced the skin of your back
like an explorer charting a map
a beautiful new blue ocean.
Where I discovered an island
fitting in the palm of my hand
it became home to me.
In endless hours of the night
when your heart beat drums
a new life raft next to me
Street lamps with grey heads bowed
Stoically shed the cold midnight tears,
abandoned by drifting autumn clouds
unable to carry the burden any further.
Creating glittering babbling streams
carrying away the last stubborn grief,
painful words of discarding goodbyes,
to a wide forgetful ocean of yesterday.
I saw a single word dropping silently
into a quiet and unimportant moment.
Where it cut through the dark surface
of the still and reflective pond of I am.
Rippling a perfect pause of awareness
between a breath a sound and a to do.
Drawing forth with calm effortlessness
the light of being present to the now.
How long will you demand this veil?
This mask of superficial purity, white?
I want to rip into this suffocating lace.
Tear it from my tortured beaten face.
Revealing black haunted eyes to light.
How long must this macabre act prevail?
Come to me my lost and reprobate angel.
Liberate me with your love in dark places.
Let me bleed into the white empty spaces.
Bless my union in the dilapidated chapel.
So that I might be resurrected to the night.
Divinely ordained in pure black and white.
Golden lava-flows of stars plunges
in waterfalls over the edge of a bed.
A faithful fan performs its Sufi twirls
cloistered, as is proper, in obscurity.
Whilst the guitar whispers love songs
an audience of plants listens in silence.
Soft cotton covers hug my naked skin
like the warm touch of an absent lover.
Gratitude dances on my heavy eyelids
as I drift into a sleep void of storms.