Prayer
Celestial choirs by the bed
We do not ache… we do not ask,
A monarchy within my womb
Protruding through the silent mask.
No monsters to compel thy breath
No honor to dispel the blame,
All livid demons graced by youth
Have fallen old and full of shame.
I’m holding Eden in my hands
This vile perfection, upside down
It does not bother any more
That all these saints in splendor drown.
The emptiness does not exist
We go together, hand in hand,
Thy petals blooming in my chest
The silence of a pulsing land.
For the Holy Lost
©2002 Emmah Toris
– Image courtesy of Jana Brike –