Warning: This will be a poetic series based upon MY own experience . . . who I was . . . who I became . . . who I am now . . .and where spirituality played in each . . .

Astarte's Rapture

-

Preach silently – m' dear

Lest thy chords discover downy pillows - a smothering noose

Within this realm of feathery mortality

Speak thee as hell's whispering ghosts

Of all that thee witness . . .

Within my dominion beneath – so far beneath your comprehensions –

(Deep

Deep

Deep)

Beneath the gopher burrows -

The earthy scum crust – with embedded rose thorns

Of a fool's spiny skeleton!

-

Purgatory is lax – m' dear

When scaled in equality – its own quill and Bordeaux ink constitution

To this thy long fated abode

(A Frozen wasteland of bacteria's

Sinew sculptures of pocket lint

Within corroded eye sockets)

Admiration rests in vile peace

Within the irises of death's beholder

And he is a fine lover . . .

-

The maggots scathe the flesh – m' dear

With their mucous bestowed by Beelzebub

(Rotting

Stinking

Putrid saliva dripping in ringlets upon freckled skin)

Ashen grey it crinkles fingertips

Molding nails into frothy spirals of wormwood

Spread as the burnt limber trunk's roots

Whose smoldering is stunningly gratifying

As a lover's lustful climax – so temporary in pleasure

That it deftly subsides to blunt arches

-

What realm dost though stand– m' dear?

This my paradise of defecation's bones

Their faces – greened with moss – with cockroaches – black

Sunken, swollen, bloated, peeled . . .

(So archaically beautiful . . .)

My companions of entombed humanity

Hum in droning moans

Words not uttered by lips and pinky muscles

Playing as symphony's finale unto me

Low grunts of tenors and sopranos – royal beauty – so befitting

-

Chant my title – m' dear

(Astarte)

(Astarte)

(Astarte)

Queen of the dead's host (those lingering open-lipped sheets of Hallows Eve)

-the damned witch warden of Gehenna

-

Life is far more gratifying – once the soul is buried

(Six feet under hell . . .)