The Widowed Unwed One
The soul in garbed black
Crouches within the sundered veil,
Her once-radiant adornment singed and soot-stained.
You see, the Soul ran to the inferno
With her bone and flesh garbed,
Stump-to-be into the forge.
Now wails she, as bones clutched,
Withdrawn to chest and held near breast—
The stump radiating pain from fingers once visible, now gone;
The arm, shockingly, we perceive is not gone,
For near her translucent fist, clutched fast,
Was none other than the manifestation—
The emanation of the representation of the Light:
The ever-living Coal from the Altar, gifted to the soiled soul.
In her fingers burned to flesh, she holds fast a gem
So pristine in our refracted and glared sight it blinds.
The soul who ran to the flame and grabbed the coal
Kneels and reaches her burned-to-invisibility hand into her beating,
Breathing, ever-expanding cage of ribs, and overlays the Diamond in the heart.
Closing it with her nonexistent hand, she turns and smiles—her widow’s veil spent,
Fluttering; her hazel eyes alight with wisdom and mercy mingled.
This is the once-widowed one—
The unmarried, barren Mother of none and all.
The eyes of a soul ancient before incarnational time radiate
A presence nearly physical at once, and spiritual as echoes.
Her eyes crinkle at her tanned, ageless skin,
Mirth in the corners of lips lived-in and content.
I dedicate this to my newest family member Thomas Plummer
If you want to know more about who this bride of none is see below for the full format.
Eiri Waters