My Goddess, My Own Poem by Holly Heron

Her hair the black, of the ravens wing,
And petals of flowers long dead,
Become her lips so cruel,
To stare into my lady's eyes,
To catch a single glimpse,
Is to die and be reborn,
For she my lady fair
My Lover
My Goddess
My Own.
Is more than just a figurehead,
She is the ship the ocean,
And the wind that fills the sails,
Her touch, is as the sunset,
The beauty of that sky,
The sizzle as fire meets earth,
She invokes that awe.
Her voice it holds the souls,
Of those who died in vain,
She keeps them in her necklace,
Worn just above a heart of flame,
Captured in a cage of ice,
Melting but still cold,
Colder than this oblivion.
Her oblivion I long for,
Deep down inside my core.
She is my Goddess and my lover,
Upon her pedastal she lays,
That high above the abyss lingers,
Spun in turquoise, ruby, gold.
And though the sun this place deprived,
Her own glow lights this vision,
And all do kneel before her,
My Lover.
My Goddess.
My Own.