The Garden of Devotion

The wind strikes with the
Wrath of the red right hand.
The hymns sung by grief
And split tongue bring blind warmth. 

The garden of devotion erect with halcyon Steady and sundry, moss and stone.
No longer the rush of willing movement, Now damned, posed and interlocked. 

Unity on sorrow, riveting from the apple of mine, Marvel at the permanence of erstwhile sentience. Skin now hollow from bites of defiance Lilith lay bearing witness to new genesis. 

And though the apple held rue,
She orates at nothing knowingly
With yearning for crimson fruit.

This poem originally appears in OFM’s Suspect Press Takeover. Photo courtesy of  Ivy Owens. Model Void Phlux.