Song for the Wicked

My heart may have stopped

The day I heard you were back

The winds howled and rocked

And I felt the odds against me stack

Blessed being, your face born of death

Come share in the fruits of our heaven

Beyond the graves to our left

And the statues stand all of seven

One for the reaper

his sword brandished high

One for the keeper

of light in all lies

One for the maiden

who births nought but sorrow

One for our Satan

who seeks souls to borrow

One for the lamb

whose meekness does shine

One for the tramp

who does nothing but cry

And last but not least

One soul who does cower

A daughter who feasts

On gorgeous black power.

But you, you torturous beast

you’re the worst of them all

All these gentle brows do crease

When they think of your fall

How you rose up from the depths

Your hands around some poor babe

You rose as if ascending some steps

with the poor lass’s mouth agape

The pits did not hold you long

Their black fingerprints may mark you still

Staining your arms so strong

Too strong for you to kill

Maybe sometimes you might miss them

As a woman misses her ex-husband

A man who abused his little gem

And who she left all of a sudden.

Me, sometimes I even miss you

your hollow cheeks and uneven smile

your clean pressed suit and polished shoe

the way your boot clacks against tile.

Your jagged wings make me weak

Your screech leaves my ears bleeding

Yet the pulse of your love is a slow leak

That gets under my skin until I am teeming

Suddenly my hate turns to a milky sludge

All defiance coming to an abrupt end

I feel your presence like an inky smudge

And all at once you are a godsend.

I return to your vileness

Your wicked, cruel ways

My thoughts become close to villainous

And I am trapped in your maze.

Now when you walk by

I feel my heart stop once more

There is no time for my simpering cry

Before you fill me to my very core.