Saturday, 25 September 2010

Cult of Crimson Tides

In this orchard 
Marguerite au Sabbat, 1911
Pascal Adolphe Jean DAGNON-BOUVERET
Le musée d'Art et d'Histoire. Cognac, France.
pendulous drops, 
red, juicy spheres
decorate my tree.
Life in monthly fruit forms.
Eve in punishment”,
he tells me.
Descending, ever paying
for the sin of love, of beauty
and of liberty.
This is the word of God.
It is the truth,
as recorded 
by Man.

He sees me as a factory.
He strains, disgusted
at his lust, his want of me.
at my cries, he denies me
the rare sweet joy.
He withdraws.

Time is time, and time again.
It comes in cycles.
Tidal waves
wax and wane.
Bijoux babies - my escape 
from his oppression. 
I cradle them.
Innocent of him, they
grow to ignore his rhetoric.
They care not for dictators.

At fifty, flux and fucks
diminished, here’s the last.
The life within is precious.
It kicks inside my cauldron.

I am woman,
welcoming the love of man and
wishing this man
would love this woman equally
as mother of
his children, clan, his
swelling brood.

If he can’t treat the wife he chose 
with warm respect
and dignity
I’ll take our babes to
live our lives alone,
away from Christian eyes
and judgement.
Wise, safe sanctuary.
Man’s time is over.
Time is time, and time again.
Ours is now and for the first time,
will soon begin.

Lily Childs is a writer of horror, esoteric, mystery and chilling fiction.

If you see her dancing outside in a thunder storm - don't try to bring her in. She's safe.