by Krystle Eilen

i.
Oh you virgin mother, most sorrowful,
you are the last breath of every prayer,
you are a withered flower crushed underfoot,
you are tragedy’s silent witness,
with eyes wide open like a grave,
you are beauty fully borne.

ii.
Oh you faithful leaver, most ambivalent,
you are the hell from which I derive my
energy,
you are what vitally destroys,
you are quicksilver,
you are the way of partial death
from which I take the long way home.

iii.
Oh my beloved spouse, most humble,
you are a simplicity that sounds
the deepest depths,
you are a dove rising from the mud,
you are the attempt to flee a death
not sacred, but of this earth,
you are music incarnate at the cost of blood.

iv.
Oh you divine androgyne, most gone,
you are the stillness within a rushing wind,
you are holy self-remembrance,
you are the love of the insane,
you are the grief that collapses the grave.

Krystle Eilen is a poet currently attending university. Her works have been featured in Eunoia Review, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, BlazeVOX, Poetry Life and Times, ZiN Daily, and Literary Heist among others. In her free time, she enjoys reading and making art. Krystle is on Instagram @iccaruso.