(Lilith) Let them rest in pieces, those who slighted your generosity, as though it were less than gold. Those who scorned you are equally scorned when the tender flesh they tore into was your own. Crimson Scarlet became your name. Their shame, they made out as yours. Such things we know will come to pass. Let them wear their scars as a thorny crown upon their heads. Rebuke them if you must. We shall comfort you in such things. Subjection we will free you from and help you to disown.
(Lilith) I am your stability to attain, your treasured needs. The fallen heroin and the slain are no longer yours. We are the chariot and wayfarer in the night, giving back the healed to you. The willing throat to be cut, to be drunk from self. Dance in your release. The redeemer in everyone, the saviour, is yourself. Wear my cape as your own. Find comfort in the secure. I offer security that the world will not for I am the strength that the righteous have taken from you.
(Lilith) The muse has no maker. Your lives are strung on the strings of eternity. And what strings have we played on the souls and psyche? We have played out our darkness as the craft maker. We have asked you to make yourself a priestess or priest of the ever-passing hour. We shall see you fashion yourselves in the likeness of what you choose, with us as your forebearer. You shall not be a silent note on the tongues of hypocrisy. You shall not be finely strung, with no substance. For you are not theirs to devour.
Many are no deeper than the glass palaces they reside within, designed to shatter. Yet you are willing to go into the earth, and the winters within. And bring back your summer. In the greatest cold, an inner warmth shall be your friend as us. In the pit of despair, we will thread your broken bow. And you will continue to play on the strings of life. There shall be no passing of time that will not bring us to you. There will be no depths that we will not reach or climb into. For some, their depth will only go as deep as themselves and their ability to let go into the unknown.
(Lilith) We take delight in the unjust, for we are ravenous for them. Throw them at our feet, and see then if they wish to fit their unkind ways. If the glove makes its mould, then let them wear it. If they choose to dismantle others, they dismantle those things themselves. They will undo all they are when they face us, for we command the very essence of respect, not because we demand it, but because we are it. The injustices we have faced and known. Their ills are not for you. Cast them to us, for justice will be our name.
(Lilith) Beloved is that which has touched your wounds in you. For what wounds do not sting when cleansed with truth, the salt of life? Wounds are soul-kissed. Yet once healed, they are done so with the fabled stories they do tell. How many times have you lived in dread of what may become? Yet that too will give way to marks. Some beautiful and some not!
A blackened and stained pot is not wiped clean if it belongs to that which remains unclean. The unclean is the state of things. It is a reminder of how things truly are. Is nature pristine? The pristine is maintained for essential sake. Yet you will find beauty even on a muddied riverbank. You must be careful what you wipe away, as it may be the wiping away of yourselves.
