A night with Lady Death
A poem
Last night, under the light of a blue moon,
I sat with Lady Death by fire.
How often I had fled from her wailing hymns!
She told of her otherworldly being,
with glowing embers clinging to her bitter breath.
She spoke of age-old valleys where milk and honey married in streams,
of velvet snow in the middle of a warm Summer’s day,
of sharing sacred fruit with the Devil by golden myrtle,
of breaking bread with spirits that played her hair like a harp,
of her soul who had parted to build a home
somewhere between a pink horizon and the edge of time.
She said she had died a thousand deaths,
and each of her lives had been better than the next.
As we waltzed around the rings of Saturn,
here, in the very place it stood upon my birth,
I realised she was a rotting vision of beauty,
a spellbinding maiden with many faces.
She fed on my heart and drank from my eyes
‘till she was alive as I.
And as she entered the gates of Nirvana,
I slept in the divine orchard of her mind,
the sound of her wailing now nectar to my ears.
