Rising Saviour

Hair strains woven from ashes.  
Red dawn guiding her eyes.  
Lips made of wounds and scratches,  
and teeth akin to spikes.  

Bile and molten earth flowing -  
right beneath her snow-white nape.  
Pose of beast, but couture showing -  
body bearing a child's shape.  
 
The skin parched, hardened leather.  
Lacking both in hoofs and horns.  
Call her savior or the devil.  
Give her - the crown of thorns.  
 
Blinded by a rage that's lawless.  
At once both sane and mad.  
Rising from deepest darkness -  
Ready to wrestle god.