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Deum de Lumine

(written for Aemelia's "Light weaving" comp)




He came
and touched the Earth, claiming
squatter’s rights with blood
riddled fingers, an abortion
of Creation, himself.

Even photons recoiled
at his hand, yet
he put them on, anyway, clothing
made from light
for each workday ahead.

“Toil, I shall, until there is none left to deceive!”

So he set about planting
and reaping
thoughts, illuminated with despair
until forests grew, and
his own light burned far more
than the sun’s rays, obliterating
flesh and bone.

Perhaps you have seen him, this
Star of the Morning, Angel
of Light, who’s false identity
walks in shadows and
behind rows?

Beware, ye Pilgrims—
not all things luminous
are meant for good.
MadameLavender
Written by MadameLavender
Published
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