Harlot On A Pedestal

Where does the madness end,
how far down do the rungs expire?
In smoke and burning heat,
in depravity and sin?

In her shocking retinue
I saw the worst,
desire run amok amongst you.

And in her boudoir too
the endless nights embedded
in her beautiful cocoon
turning black and blue and jaded.

Kneeling at her feet my heart
atrophied at her ravishing form.
The ultimate test, her cult obsessed,
with this body of the Goddess reborn.

When she first laid me to rest
I saw such sights of wickedness,
from this harlot on a pedestal
this scarlet woman scorned.

I glimpsed desertion, the bluster of shame,
the tribes of the moon, their lustre improved.
A morbid aversion to the limpid domain of
Eden and Adam her dark temper moved.

I witnessed reverie then
perverse resurgence, souls on fire.
Blood and seed spilt for centuries
for this imperious bitch.

In her shocking retinue
I saw the worst,
desire run amok amongst you.

A gnawer of taboo,
dread appetites were threaded.
Right throughout the mortal zoo
her immortality now hungered.

I remember, in Thebes
enthroned with cat-skinned girls
her long dark hair braided with pearls.

A red gown split revealed her thighs
as full lips rose to feline eyes.
Egyptian black outlined each lid,
it's clear who owned the pyramid.

Temptress Lilith!
Her beauty stirred me more
than words could ever paint,
her bible hurt.

Tempered Lilith!
Hissing in the dark,
pissing on my heart,
I was missing every
part of Victoria.

Victoria!

I found them hypnotic, the years of display,
of court life and parties, political bite.
Narcotic, erotic, her bleary soirees left
daylight a dream in the scheme of the night.

The scheme of the night!

But I grew uneasy, she wanted the Earth,
for now she was spinning her sins.
Breeding fell children and biding her worth
before the new orders disorder begins.

Feeding from the weak,
savaged on their feet
by her ravaging lust.

Evening-dressed
this young Countess
led lovers astray under
cover of dusk.

When she took them to her breast
they passed last rites, deliciousness.
Swept into their every pore this
matriarch of darkness bored.

Harlot on a pedestal,
the night orchestral.
Harlot on a pedestal,
never vestal.