On Your Lips

They say that mother,

Is the name for God,

In the mouths of little children.

I don't want to be your mother.

But I will accept nothing less,

Than deification in your heart.

Bow before me,

Head lowered,

Reverent and trembling lips,

Pressed against

My

Tiny

Feet.

Give me offerings.

Not food or money,

But love,

And kindness,

Tenderness,

And violence.

Display indifference,

And I will smite you,

Leave nothing of you,

But scorched earth.

Shower me in adoration,

And you shall walk,

Among the blessed,

Revered.

Treasured.

Indomitable.

Your promised land is waiting.

Surrender the power,

Or wield it.

Hurt me with affection.

Heal me with bruises.

A doomed man is doomed

Only to the fate that he chooses.