The righteous young woman, from that haughty sect
that sets themselves apart, dress the women in white robes,
stood their among the cluster of other women in her band,
long golden hair in a ponytail, staring me down with fire
filled grey eyes.
In the ether realm, in the realm beyond the sun and flesh,
she carries a sword all afire in honeyed flame, that she stole
for herself from a bored, disinterested angel more interested
in fucking human woman and shaking down the lonely
with false hope that he would fight for him.
She stares me down, cleansing hellfire in her grey eyes,
knowing me, knowing I am not so different, so good as
I have made them believe or dream I am, and I feel that
sword pierce my heart, and her hate, and it’s flames
burn right through me.
A smirk crosses her thin, pale and unadorned lips as she
leaves me behind, as her cohort of Christians crosses the
street as the light changes and I see the hunger to devour
all the lust and greed and cruelty, that living among her kind,
she knows all too well.
A month later, I would see on the news one Saturday morning,
as I was halfway to despair and elation from a sleepless night,
where Roxy and Sam spoke to me of things hidden in the air,
that she had taken a shotgun and killed all the men in her sect.
“God was away, and someone had to make them pay.”