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In Medius Rae

And forth from the cursed trees of Heaven and Hell fall
Rotten apples
The most delicious you've ever tasted
And there Adam and Lilith and Eve
Wait for me
Loving foes, the three
They wait,
With patient snakes curled about branching weeping willow arms
And small ferns growing from their heads,
A halo
Horns
To fight them, one must simply  pluck the wormwood from its hiding place
Among the silver leaves and bunches of baby's breath
Bitter, rotten, shattered
And among the wormwood, I find my great adversary
Peace, he is called
And he is boring, and serene, and ever so standoffish
As if I do not belong in the presence of one so great
Bartering and trading is his area of expertise, but he knows nothing of his only enemy
The great father of all,
Strife
Who plucks the asphodel
That grows in abundance,
That mark the passing
That They all mourned
Adam, Eve
My sweetest Lilith
My hideous Peace
My lovely Strife
My hated foes,
My only friends,
My saints, with arms open,
Embracing the loving glow of Mother Moon
And the harsh stares of Father Sun,
So disappointed,
So blinding
Existence is all we share,
Each of you,
But it is still with a tombstone heart,
That I bid you farewell
Perhaps we will meet again.

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