by Alexis Marie
Who may paint my red rose white,
when its taint is from when Lucifer had bled…?
The Morning Star,
for the miseries and lusts of human kind’s temptations.
Falling upon solid ground,
it’s not the fall that wounds but the impact
of knowing that his punisher refused to send him straight to Hell.
Was His plan for him to live among the men
whose curseful simplicities had wronged him?
How could Yahweh, the One Most Merciful,
forget that He once loved him?
And he clutched the ground,
dirt trapped under his finger nails,
and he aimed for the Well of Hell,
to throw himself inside,
so he could bathe in his singed flesh
and drown in the flames.
Yet he only hung his head and wept on the too solid ground.
So who may paint this red rose white
if its taint is from when Lucifer had fell,
and cried on a patch of grass
with tiny seeds taking root in the soil?
Marie Meyers, 2016