The Beautiful Beast, The Perverse Saint
by Dena L. Moore
Saturday, August 07, 2010
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This hole, it continues to grow
And I stitch and mend, tape, glue, solder -
All a senseless waste of time yet I struggle
To patch it and slow the pull…it sucks me dry,
A black hole with no beginning and no end.
Like the circle, we’ve come around again,
Spinning this web in a spiral, watching it disappear as
Quickly as I can thread each needle -
We’ve come around but I’m on my own,
At the top of the wheel, waiting to see which direction wins.
Tip deosil and I cling tenuously,
Fall widdershins and I’ll be pulled down again, down into
The warmth of you, the memories of you, the scent of you…
The beauty of the beast, the travesty of the saint, the enveloping
Misery and foolishness of an impossible love…
The suffering and knowing that you’ve pulled into that hole,
The dark deep blood red spiral trailing out behind,
The web you weave alone, the one I strive to match, the one I grip
In the nightmare of this life…
You pull me without mercy, without knowledge that I fight fate,
That I need to spin this web alone, without you…no, no…
You’ve no knowledge of anything I do -
I watch you, feel you…you suck me dry, this black hole, this emptiness
Reaching me through the centuries…the emptiness I cling to and reach for,
The same hollow center I fight as I fall,
The same trailing cord I’ve severed over and over…
You are the beautiful beast and the perverse saint,
The one I love and the one I hate.
Dena L Moore
August 1, 2006
Thanks to everyone who leaves me such lovely comments! It is very appreciated :D Blessings!
This poem appears in my collection, "Each Death Draws Us Closer", a volume of dark love poetry.
Dena's Poetry: Poetry of Love, Loss, & the Occult