Before the Altar
By Tamyris L.
Take my heart.
What is it of mine,
this thing of stone?
What is it of mine,
this forgotten blossom
withered in its unfriendly tomb?
What need have I
for such a one-
this dying creature,
whose anguished cries echo
unheard in the void?
What need for mirrors has
this face of ice?
What need for comfort
a child's cry?
Take this hungry creature
that its endless needs may abate.
Its seed will not blossom here.
Take this heart,
where hungry falcons
seek unwilling prey.
There, bury this small
insignificant obelisk of pain,
bury it in fertile ground
that it might bear bitter fruit
plucked and bruised by bitter hands,
sweetened in its pain.
Erase the memory of my name,
of my cries,
of my pain.
Shatter the gateway
to this bleak corridor
that no desperate hand
may again turn the key
opening once more, the forgotten door to 'me.'
Let it die unmourned.
Take my heart away.
Whisper not
of adornments and play
of flesh against flesh
sweetly molded.
Speak not of the tears
shed in this sepulchre of pain
or of mirrors and masks and passion's games.
Speak not to me of love-
She smiles not on me.
Her waters of healing soften not
this battered stone.
Here no flowers grow.
My fire dank and bleak
has burned away every seed
and scorched Her demons
to the bone.
Love has no need of me.
I will not bow or bend or yield,
or beg or pray or scream.
I have no need of Her
it is She that does blaspheme.
And when on Her bloody table
of sacrifice I lay,
it is to a fierce, well-honed blade,
a demon-God I pray:
"Sweet devourer of dreams,
take this heart away."
And in the night,
when pierced again by jagged shadows
and cacophonous dreams...
When pierced by the edge of a child's scream,
by the bloody shards of shame and rage,
when cursed memory once again
summons forth the bruising touch
of enemy hands,
as all gentleness shrivels away,
ravaged within my heart's burning brand,
it is to that blade I pray:
"Take this bleeding heart
Away."
Copyright 1998 by Tamyris.
By Tamyris L.
Take my heart.
What is it of mine,
this thing of stone?
What is it of mine,
this forgotten blossom
withered in its unfriendly tomb?
What need have I
for such a one-
this dying creature,
whose anguished cries echo
unheard in the void?
What need for mirrors has
this face of ice?
What need for comfort
a child's cry?
Take this hungry creature
that its endless needs may abate.
Its seed will not blossom here.
Take this heart,
where hungry falcons
seek unwilling prey.
There, bury this small
insignificant obelisk of pain,
bury it in fertile ground
that it might bear bitter fruit
plucked and bruised by bitter hands,
sweetened in its pain.
Erase the memory of my name,
of my cries,
of my pain.
Shatter the gateway
to this bleak corridor
that no desperate hand
may again turn the key
opening once more, the forgotten door to 'me.'
Let it die unmourned.
Take my heart away.
Whisper not
of adornments and play
of flesh against flesh
sweetly molded.
Speak not of the tears
shed in this sepulchre of pain
or of mirrors and masks and passion's games.
Speak not to me of love-
She smiles not on me.
Her waters of healing soften not
this battered stone.
Here no flowers grow.
My fire dank and bleak
has burned away every seed
and scorched Her demons
to the bone.
Love has no need of me.
I will not bow or bend or yield,
or beg or pray or scream.
I have no need of Her
it is She that does blaspheme.
And when on Her bloody table
of sacrifice I lay,
it is to a fierce, well-honed blade,
a demon-God I pray:
"Sweet devourer of dreams,
take this heart away."
And in the night,
when pierced again by jagged shadows
and cacophonous dreams...
When pierced by the edge of a child's scream,
by the bloody shards of shame and rage,
when cursed memory once again
summons forth the bruising touch
of enemy hands,
as all gentleness shrivels away,
ravaged within my heart's burning brand,
it is to that blade I pray:
"Take this bleeding heart
Away."
Copyright 1998 by Tamyris.