The Death Angel and The Mother Goddess

Came to St Thomas because I am a doubter,
and the graves are left wild and untended.
The ramshackle farmhouse were I wait for
the death angel and the mother goddess.
The house is empty but for ghosts and fears.
The house is full with the bad shit in my head.
I sit on the rotted porch, as the sun falls down.
Death and life the knots that feed the light.
The dead are rising, the grave spits them out.
Or maybe they are not cold nor hot but lukewarm.
Death came before it became a shambling curse.
Death came when I drew breath, and was left broken.
Maybe the sun will go black cloth, the moon red as blood,
and the seals and tribulations follow down with wormwood.
Maybe I’ll get the destruction I’ve courted all these long years.
The death angel and the mother goddess is coming through,
in black, in armor, with an assualt rifle at the ready.
Death is death is undeath and black as the emptiest heart.
She may save me, she may slay me. Either will deliver me.
Death angel gives me the sword to save the sun.
Mother goddess give me a kiss on my chapped lips.
She goes inside as the night come down full dark and starless.
There is no light to guide us. There is no cuts upon the moon.

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