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Black Inferno
- Black Inferno -
The dragon roars in the black inferno, its’ roar so sad!
A goddess is weeping, and it makes the dragon mad.
I am that goddess, and when the dragon at last wakes,
It will trample autumn’s harvest, like feet upon grapes.
Love is like a black flower in a blood-red garden…
Needing warmth instead of water in order to flourish.
When love withers, it can make the heart to harden,
And in that moment, the red garden can nearly perish.
Who hath blood for the flowers, for the pretty roses?
No water is enough to get them through winter’s frost!
One oft needs more than the gardener first supposes,
If the beauty of my dark flowers is not to become lost!
Within me all is like a black inferno, like a maelstrom,
Swirling, blazing, raging in flooded torrents of darkness!
And although I strive to be at times wise, at times strong,
I feel the bite of terror and know a great deal of distress.
My family, blood of my blood, despises and disrespects,
All that is deepest me, all I ever was and all I canst be…
Until I must despise them in turn, the creatures imperfect.
No blood of mine are they, I disown the devils entirely!
Instead I feel more kinship to we who walk similar paths:
We who walk the shadows of the night, so often unseen,
Yet, whose influence causes either of adoration or wrath.
So love me or hate me: either sing with me or scream…
But nothing will ever change me, for I am of my making.
With strength of mind, body, and will surpassing much,
Even so I never raised myself up above earth’s shaking:
For tremble it must at the evils done by man, as such…
That blood turns against blood until all becomes chaos!
I remained steadfast to the last, but evil words, deeds,
And actions require of me the sort of fire as scorches:
The souls of the damned, subject to perdition’s needs.
Where is the heaven I long for, where my sought bliss?
I long to touch the slender hand of one who can ease,
The darkness inside my soul, if only the span of a kiss!
At least so brief a time wouldst, in some way, please…
The nature of my spirit: so longing for an angel’s touch.
I ask of all the gods, who is like unto me in my image?
For I try not to break, though I bend without crutch…
Only to rise from the sea of torment and human rage!
Is this loneliness what I so willingly whored myself for?
Nay, for one doth not sell their soul, without reason…
Though this is not enough and I crave for vastly more.
Enough to ease the awful evil of my family’s treason!
So familiar, these events that do transpire all around,
That I know I have lived them before, centuries ago!
When I was betrayed: by all, and the mournful sound,
Of wolves was more like music than they who did so:
Using words and more visible steel, against my heart.
Hell hath no fury, like one scorned by even the gods,
And, one day I hope to find my angel and not part…
So that ceasing will be my hot pain like to iron rods:
Broken instruments that can harm not and do naught.
Oh where is my angel, where is she of such power!
I sing to her with all my darkness, with every thought.
How came I to the shadows of this purgatorial hour?
Heeding false promises, and trying to help selflessly,
Whilst the selfish had their way with my good nature!
But I will survive, and face the dark of my destiny…
A risen goddess of the night: with my own scripture.
Love is like a black flower in a blood-red garden…
Needing warmth instead of water in order to flourish.
When love withers, it can make the heart to harden,
And in that moment, the red garden can nearly perish.
Who hath blood for the flowers, for the pretty roses?
No water is enough to get them through winter’s frost!
One oft needs more than the gardener first supposes,
If the beauty of my dark flowers is not to become lost!
The dragon roars in the black inferno, its’ roar so sad!
A goddess is weeping, and it makes the dragon mad.
I am that goddess, and when the dragon at last wakes,
It will trample autumn’s harvest, like feet upon grapes.
The dragon roars in the black inferno, its’ roar so sad!
A goddess is weeping, and it makes the dragon mad.
I am that goddess, and when the dragon at last wakes,
It will trample autumn’s harvest, like feet upon grapes.
Love is like a black flower in a blood-red garden…
Needing warmth instead of water in order to flourish.
When love withers, it can make the heart to harden,
And in that moment, the red garden can nearly perish.
Who hath blood for the flowers, for the pretty roses?
No water is enough to get them through winter’s frost!
One oft needs more than the gardener first supposes,
If the beauty of my dark flowers is not to become lost!
Within me all is like a black inferno, like a maelstrom,
Swirling, blazing, raging in flooded torrents of darkness!
And although I strive to be at times wise, at times strong,
I feel the bite of terror and know a great deal of distress.
My family, blood of my blood, despises and disrespects,
All that is deepest me, all I ever was and all I canst be…
Until I must despise them in turn, the creatures imperfect.
No blood of mine are they, I disown the devils entirely!
Instead I feel more kinship to we who walk similar paths:
We who walk the shadows of the night, so often unseen,
Yet, whose influence causes either of adoration or wrath.
So love me or hate me: either sing with me or scream…
But nothing will ever change me, for I am of my making.
With strength of mind, body, and will surpassing much,
Even so I never raised myself up above earth’s shaking:
For tremble it must at the evils done by man, as such…
That blood turns against blood until all becomes chaos!
I remained steadfast to the last, but evil words, deeds,
And actions require of me the sort of fire as scorches:
The souls of the damned, subject to perdition’s needs.
Where is the heaven I long for, where my sought bliss?
I long to touch the slender hand of one who can ease,
The darkness inside my soul, if only the span of a kiss!
At least so brief a time wouldst, in some way, please…
The nature of my spirit: so longing for an angel’s touch.
I ask of all the gods, who is like unto me in my image?
For I try not to break, though I bend without crutch…
Only to rise from the sea of torment and human rage!
Is this loneliness what I so willingly whored myself for?
Nay, for one doth not sell their soul, without reason…
Though this is not enough and I crave for vastly more.
Enough to ease the awful evil of my family’s treason!
So familiar, these events that do transpire all around,
That I know I have lived them before, centuries ago!
When I was betrayed: by all, and the mournful sound,
Of wolves was more like music than they who did so:
Using words and more visible steel, against my heart.
Hell hath no fury, like one scorned by even the gods,
And, one day I hope to find my angel and not part…
So that ceasing will be my hot pain like to iron rods:
Broken instruments that can harm not and do naught.
Oh where is my angel, where is she of such power!
I sing to her with all my darkness, with every thought.
How came I to the shadows of this purgatorial hour?
Heeding false promises, and trying to help selflessly,
Whilst the selfish had their way with my good nature!
But I will survive, and face the dark of my destiny…
A risen goddess of the night: with my own scripture.
Love is like a black flower in a blood-red garden…
Needing warmth instead of water in order to flourish.
When love withers, it can make the heart to harden,
And in that moment, the red garden can nearly perish.
Who hath blood for the flowers, for the pretty roses?
No water is enough to get them through winter’s frost!
One oft needs more than the gardener first supposes,
If the beauty of my dark flowers is not to become lost!
The dragon roars in the black inferno, its’ roar so sad!
A goddess is weeping, and it makes the dragon mad.
I am that goddess, and when the dragon at last wakes,
It will trample autumn’s harvest, like feet upon grapes.
Published 24th Oct 2014
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24th Oct 2014 4:49am
Imageries evoked are surreal with echoes of dreams eons past. You never fail to transport me to this fantastic before-land, Jessica. Beautifully written as always.
25th Oct 2014 7:35am
It is a pleasure to present such beauty to you, Grace, and to share even the most surreal and dreamlike images of my poetry with you, and with all my fans and friends here! Just as, it is ever pleasing to read your lovely comments on them. :)
Anonymous
26th Oct 2014 2:40pm
so enchanting.this expresses the dark season so well.much enjoyed this piece dear Jessica
27th Oct 2014 6:52am
I am glad you liked it, Mourganna my friend! I sort of poured a lot of energy into it, both dark and light, and more than a bit of myself into it in the process. The result was truly magical and a good celebration of this season and all of its' complexities (as well as all of my own complexities too). ;)
