known for his mighty game
slowly he seeped far into her
filling her with his smoky tendrils
his nature so apparently stellar
he rips out her past pains
& undoes the raveling of webs
long-forgotten, left to the dust grains
she begins to breathe easy again
as he has made room inside of her
her soul light with the weightless space
& she began to weep in the light, the bliss
while he remained playing in her shadows
he asks “what could be more holy than this?”
he aptly kept his name from her all this time,
she seldom wondered it, thinking herself free
naively thinking he had his reasons & rhymes
with her shadows he began to build anew
not a warm, light abode as context implied…
he did not want for her soul to be pure or true
he begins to mold his beautiful weapon
a creation of her pain, trauma & sorrows
& so begins his plan to shred her open
still breathless, living in peace
she feels his presence once more
& lets him in, expecting more release
she starts to remember him; vaguely, slowly
as her insides start to burn hot & smolder
now she remembers - he is anything but holy
he fills her soul with shadows once again
different, worse, darker than the ones he took
& delights in the cries of her excruciating pain
she can see it in his eyes now, see his game
not a patron saint of peace as she thought,
true peace was pain & cruelty was his name