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The Virgin

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Apr. 21st, 2008 | 04:34 pm

She had whispered, a gown of white snowflakes adorned
her milky pale skin caught under the heavy skies,
"I have never been loved, my absence not mourned,
but I caught glimmers of hope underneath your yellow eyes."
So I followed her, trailing her cape of alabaster frost,
I stepped in her foot prints like a meek intercourse,
until she had lead me where the sun and moon crossed
proceeding to steal my youthful virginity by force
leaving me stained with her lips and her scent
I ran with frozen tears towards the church to repent.

The hillsides were graying, acting as a mirror
to the thick, hazy heavens that loomed up above
and as the trees thinned, the path became clearer
I knew virgins as I must not question this love
For what had I known, prior to this confrontation?
I was merely a boy with a gaunt, timid beard
and although my schoolboy's mind dreamed of elation,
I realized this was futile as she dissappeared,
this was the ceremony praised by the druids,
a sanctity, this exchange of bodily fluids.

The abbey doors, weighing like Atlas's globe
swung open with vigor I could not compare,
and seeing the flowing grace of a vermillion robe
wrapped over the preist, amidst the stale air
I shouted; "Forgive me father, for I have sinned,
I have danced the wicked waltz with temptuous fairies!"
He sipped from his chalice of wine and grinned,
spouting the words; "Give me ten Hail Marys!"
So I passed the rosary beads through my palm,
and kept my mouth busy by reciting a psalm.

While emmersed in my trance of religious delusion,
I found the church halls emptied of blasphemous souls,
empty as my schoolboy's mind, filled with confusion
my nostrils heaped with incense over whitened coals,
that wafted from Christ's own wound in his side,
followed by blood for the martyrd angelic,
"You have fallen from grace with that frail pagan bride,"
whispered the mouth of the golden-white relic
"your seed is a sacred gift from my Father,
and you spilled it into a wiccan's unholy daughter!"

So I cried, "I had not wished it to be so!
She has stolen my virtue against my intent!"
Alas, he cast me to the dwelling below,
where the grass is replaced by smoldering cement
Where the Devil in guise of a choir of serpaphim,
practices black alchemy with the stained, soiled blood
of sinners unrepentant that collapse at his whim,
only to be buried in the sulphuric mud
Upon my arrival he noticed, with glee
that this "Shall be the bane of your eternity!"

The black-lipped devil grimaces, unveiling his teeth,
rotted by feasts of scorched souls and dead apples,
that grew in the withered trees kept far beneath
the men who were pious, devoted to the chapels
This smile is piercing, brimming with ancient contempt
for the God who would not rule him supreme,
except over this barren land where no theif is exempt
from the pitifully mighty Satan's cruel regime
As I approached the white flames of the fire,
I awoke to the calming, sweet prayers of the friar

It was merely deep fervor that sent me to Hades,
I was back in the company of the stunned preist
and nuns, the most chaste and valiant of ladies,
who had fretted, believing I may have deceased
Yet my eyes were now open, flickering and bulging
I arose with great haste to my worn, tired feet
although they had presed, there would be no dilvuging
for the words of the Christ were my own, I dared not repeat
The sacred words that fell upon my accursed ears,
I ran out from the abbey, my cheeks awash in red tears

Pushing with all strength back to the whiserping forest
where the Celtic heathens danced and drank semen
for now I knew that they were subject to the poorest
of treatments from a heartless, delusional demon
Yet the foot prints had vanished under the light snow
that had fallen in my hour under the cathedral
from the darkened pale skies with the faint, sullen glow
of the sun that shone down on the poor town of Beadnil
My home, by the ocean that carried it's tides
to the grave where the ghostly maiden surely hides

That pale apparition who had made me impure
and had stained my baptismal outlook on this life
leaving behind sickness with no means of a cure
unless I could make that young spirit my wife
I have heard, in the time passed, she runs among fauna
and bathes in the clear rushing tides of the lakes
that have opened themselves to become her sauna
yet another poor soul who will repeat my mistakes
She is laughing in the echoes of caverns and wells
enchanting foolish men with her alchemist's spells

Her elixer remains, scarred into my lips
I recall her voice, leaving no discernable trace
of the ugliness that comes from her spread hips
that I plundered in foolish, youthful embrace
The ecstasy of her honeydew fingers
caressing my frail and malnourished frame
are remembered by this young boy now as the bringers
of death, destruction, pestilence and shame
Oh my dear nymph, you are the tune
that is played from the pale white light of the moon!

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