Angry Poem for October: “The One”

Henry_Meynell_Rheam_-_The_Sorceress_1898

“The Sorceress” Image by Henry Meynell Rheam, 1898, in the public domain

The One

© Lisa E. Coté

Now, when the battle sounds
In the blank recesses of fury,

Who will know me?

And when the devils rise
Out of the cracks between your skin’s dark armor,

Who will name them?

You wanted power, you wanted to be crowned
With more than leaves and feathers:
Blood and pain made a wreath around you,
And you stood in the center like a sorceress,
Tongue as black as poison,
Spitting your curses on the world and heaven.

You would rip their hearts out with your fingers,
Barely a mark left on them,
And bury them with shame.

But who will raise them?

Into the world you charmed your blurry wisdom,
Slippery as an oiled snake on the Tree of Knowledge,
But all the apples rotted on the branch.

Now who will eat them?

I am the one you seek but cannot fathom,
I am the one you love and loathe, together;
I am the one who rattles in your dungeon,
I am the penitence you will not mention
I am the answer and the question
I am the rage that burns itself to heaven
I am the maker and the great un-doer,
And all your paths will lead you all around me:

Stop for a moment,
and I may come to you;

Stop for a moment,
and you may walk through me.

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