POEM: Nothing fucks with his baby (for Hozier)

In the church of the flesh he is the purest devotee,

down on his knees before a goddess both feral and tender,

both darkness and fire. In her will there is peace

for this wandering Orpheus, this pagan John the Baptist

spreading the good news of the end of the world

and the triumph of Love in both creation and destruction.

With hair ablaze, with fingers streaming light

he boldly sings his own mortality, ready to decompose

to feed the Rose of the world, the one and only goddess

who walks always behind him, dark and bright, feral and tender,

life and death and love and his heart in her hand.

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Author: Merri-Todd

Writer, musician, polytheist, and friend of birds. I groove on transformative works.

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