Wait!  Why must she be spiritual?
I didn’t get the gene.

Your parents were poor.
This is a gift.
Her in heaven I must see.

Must?  Heaven?  Seriously
heaven?
Hope is so naïve.

Would… you… like… her… to… be… spiritual?
Its/His finger on delete.

The passage forged in the bowels of the earth
With fire and brimstone and hands of despair,
Coiled and contorted on a blistering potter’s wheel,
Then finally released into netherwhere.

Born into limbo,
Its cold, hot heart begins to beat;
Its diamond sides glow and pulsate with a soft, low song;
Its spirit awakens and is ready

To beat, burst, thrust
From the belly of the earth;
Through the tearing pain of the mother’s womb,
Through the brimming tears of the father’s soul,
Through space, through time, through the highest hereafter
To the brink of nothingness,
Where stars sing, angels thrumb
And light-clad souls stand at the threshold of eternity.

She glances down at her iridescence,
Diamond-clad soul with the fate of mankind clasped to her breast.
Beside her, the thick cocoon of joy and song
Is rent.

Into the bellowing breach, darkness bubbles through.

A screaming, fearing, thrashing pierces the throng,
Forcing its way through the billowing light and song,
As warders bring her, the doomèd one.

The closer she gets to her passage of pain
The fainter her glow.
Her cloth of light and song fade
As she is torn from divinity;
Light shredded from her being
on the grater of Godless servitude.

Clothed in darkness
And forced to eat the bitter stew
That no mother’s pity, nor father’s sweat could assuage.

The fire of the spirit capers outwards                            The genetic, rotated Like dandelion seeds on a warm summer breeze,       dodecahedron forms
Touching here, touching there,              Causing ‘events’ in other locations.
Igniting the soul with song.                      The inner cells form three layers.

Venules trickle blue-blood                          Strings of blood vessels connect through the fissures of the earth,                                        mother and child.
Ancient as time, is the umbilical cord.
Yet vital and abundant as each new spring                A large bulge appears Bursting larvally through each life-affirming beat.        where the heart is.

Senses awaken, as nerves furrow              A bump for the head is acquired.
Pathways smelling the richness of loam.                The brain is developing
The cry of the ether where stars shower their tears        Whilst nerves are Of joy in the beating breast of newly formed flesh.    propagated to major                                                                                                                      organs.

She grows through the bounty of the mother,                  Food, oxygen and                                                                    antibodies are passed to the foetus.
Gains strength from the might of the father,             After twelve weeks of                                                                           development it begins to move.
Cocooned in the clasp of a munificent cusp,    The amniotic sac stretches                                                                to contain the quickly growing infant.
Drinking the knowledge of evolutionary springs.

Following gaily the apple blossoms
Carpeting the forest floor;
She wound her way up the steep mountainside,
Trailing vestments of light from times of yore.

He smelt her as she drew closer, tendrils
Of flame ignited his grin.
Dry, brittle scales sithed ‘neeth wing and tail;
With blackest mind’s eye he beckoned her in.

Foliage grew moist under silken-shod feet.
The sunlight began to fail.
Apple blossoms fell few and far between,
But there was yet a faintly gleaming trail.

He spied her through his age-old Awwim eyes.
Seeds of evil he did sow.
Slowly but surely, strongly and swiftly
Apples of damnation began to grow.

Princess did you seek this den of malice?
Why did you drink from the chalice of sin?
‘Twas your burden, your plight, for the sake of
Mankind, to usher the saviour in.

This is the child born of malice and spite.
No divine creation, no genetic mutation,
A fallacy of love, consecrated delight.

Her hollow soul longing to be filled:
A cavity feeding rapacious on love, lust and desire.
Nor Antony, Nor Caesar could placate her dire need,
Nor Osiris, nor Oberon, nor Trojan fire,
Nor Juno’s ire.

For the Romans still come and ransack your beauty,
Desecrate your idols.  The Templars bring mutiny.

And you walk through the streets trailing your shadow of grey
And your tears cannot fall on your pale, cold skin;
For they would assuage the sorrow of your soul,
Bring God, man, even Satan to sate your genetic un-whole.

But now, pale creature; nymph that walks in the ombre
Feeding off love and ether in empty, cold bars.

The great Roman generals lured and drawn in
By the gleam of your eyes, the flush of your skin,
The curve of a tress round a diamond-clad ear.
Unbeknownst on the threshold of darkness they stand,
Where your soul is ash, falling year by year
Through the sieve of time.

Hold onto your beauty, glorious child of no Lord
For that is all your sire could afford.

The black leather cocoons her, throne-like.
The smell is comforting
Like something real, alive
In this aseptic world of sterile cleaners, bleachers, filtered air.

A tread on the threshold.
He shuffles over into her domain.
The vast room looms before him;
The domed ceiling bleeding into ebony walls
Peppered with chrome artefacts.
Legacies of greater ages,
He thinks.
Discarded remnants of the dead,
She knows.

“A samurai sword,
that must have a story?”
Her glittering eyes a warning.
What do you want?
“So you’re in recruitment?”
Pause
“What does that mean?”
“I sell souls” ha ha.
The man blanched.
“I do not believe
In souls.  The concept is worthless to me.
However, I see that you have the ‘God’ gene.”
“And you were forbidden?”
Her skin flushes, draws strength from the crimson corona,
“My parents were poor,
A modern-day nephalim.”

Later she turns to witness her world.
A sea of monoliths pierce the air;
Giants, staking their claim on the nothingness.
Below, dwarves rush through the evening deluge,
Wearied shoulders, drooping heads,
The giants demanding their sacrifice.
Hearts beating out each second,
Blood flowing for the evolution of empires.

And above as the west draws Ra and Apollo in,
The ether is washed with blood reds and pinks
And the purples push shadows into corners
Where Emim and Awwim sleep.
She is surrounded by day-dreams of fear and desolation
For he did not come.

She draws the sword and paces the room.
And as the night deepens in the crystal cold emptiness
A star falls,
Crisp, bright, transitory,
Disappearing into the abyss.

A myriad of bright orange wings lured by the scent of salvation.
Here is sweet nourishment,
Here a fall of thrumming joy,
Butterflies and bees besieging the blossoms.

This is meaning in a single day:
A day of work, of industrious activity.
The sun catches a wing
And flings it gaily to another branch.
Another sweet chalice of nectar to imbibe,
But soulless remain,
Alone.

For after the dancing cascade in the air,
After the passion, the consummate joy;
After the night falls and white blossoms close,
A lone butterfly with ruby-red wings
That no longer beat with such blissful trust,
Must drift closer and closer
To the ages old truth,
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

The rich scent of loam, once more to its breast
Gathers the lonely creature,
Devoid of all breath
under wings.
Aging flesh slows and stops and is lost.
And legacies only lie in a memory
Realised in the young,
Who through chaos and pain come
To find meaning amongst the masses.

Collect teardrops of pollen like gold, cotton dust.
Take back to the hive for the hordes to consume.
A touch here, a drop there.
Nourish your soul with care.
Emim and Awwim from dark corners are thrust.

If a bee trails the blooms sown by apples and ire
And follows the path her soul’s freedom dictates,
She will find malice lurking,
Wings and tail unfurling,
To draw in possess and consume in the fire.

To draw in, possess and be lost in her fate.