My incarnation is complete,
she is beautiful and solemn
she stares, unblinking, empty eyed
inamorata;
succubus;
Lilith.
She rises with the moon,
lithe limbed and pretty pale hands
reaching for the sky.
Mother is not here,
nor anywhere.
Mother is inside of you, lost creature
seek her through the stillness of your breath
and vacancy in your chest,
hollow and rickety; a pale hand creeps to
scratch, claw, dig through bone and flesh.
Nothing.
The wind blows through,
an eerie ring.
Frenzied, the hand retracts into frosty air:
Her mind would race.
Her lungs would drag in a deep breath.
Her heart would beat, rapid.
YOU ARE READING
A Divine Lilith
PoetryA story of Lilith: Divine, as she was, as she is, as she will be. Who is Lilith? And what does it mean for a woman to exist in the world of Man and God? It has been said that before Eve, there was Lilith. Before li...
