as her shining sister clears the gates
of death, of fate, of time.
"Her flesh shall be mine,"
declares the raven-haired queen
and sets about her selfish scheme.
She hones her fangs then to devour
the honeyed dew of Heaven's flower.
Greedily she rends skin from bone,
only to find it is her own.
"Oh my insides!" Cries Ereshkegal!
But her corpse hangs on a meat hook of her own design.
"Oh my outsides!" Cries Ereshkegal!
But her skin lies limp flayed by her own hands.
For the kurrjara whose words can soothe her broken soul
any gift she shall bestow.
For the galatura whose touch can mend her heart
she shall grant gifts of knowledge and art
For the shining sister that would clear the gates
Ereshkegal watches, and wonders, and waits.
Reposted from MySpace blog August 17, 2008
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