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Lo-Ruhamah
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Sibilant Chorus
Against all wisdom and principle of life,
I listened to a voice I ought never
have allowed to speak.
On the edge of a pit,
I denied my Father's voice
and looked into the hole
where I was told not to look.
I heard the vipers hissing while yet far away,
and drawing close,
I called myself Master.
Standing over the pit,
the hiss rising to a feverish pitch:
a symphony of grandeur.
A mockery of death.
A soulless chittering voice speaking
in octaves all at once.
Indistinguishable tongues of depravity
singing the song of sensual emptiness.
A glorious dream lifting up from a knot of serpents far below,
hidden in the darkness.
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Leaning out, leaning in.
Straining eyes searching for secrets.
Ears entranced with amorous sounds.
Leaning far, falling in.
Landing hard in a mound of writhing,
soft hard slender forms like lovers
wrap around me – close over me
Deep, deep in the darkness where eyes cannot see.
Then a hot searing white pain from unseen forms swarming.
Fangs in my cheek, throat, chest,
fingers, feet, loins – suspended by teeth.
The hole above is closing.
The light is dying.
A shriek from my chest:
Father, see me. I have done these things.
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