At the Altar

For the days when all creation 
was just hubris of a broken mind 
a black winged daemon-muse touched my ink
creative force of divine provocation 
in her lap my secrets rest prone 
my fallibility washed away in the rain 
that followed her every flutter 

there is sacrifice to be offered to this daemon;
she needs appeasement 
I lay down my words to rest
they refuse to bleed free and inspired 
'til your dark wings cloak me in passion

a final stab I take in your name-
I follow along a ledge 
lost in the dim fog
surrounded by a night-silence louder than death
seeking the black wells of your sorrowful eyes 
to choke you with lust and love-mad 
enshrouding my still heart
transcending romance to assault 
let my words tear the skin of your caged heart 
hear my screams 
that you are creation 
the instrument of my destruction 
my beautiful agony.

© Lost