Alraune


She
grows from
bloody skin
that falls on grass;
and bends upward to
the milky sky in vain.
A beauty of the strangled,
men of deed most filthy- that rot
as husks from hang'ed tree, they waver-
and become but stalks for unpleasant crows.

Β© copyright Eve Redwater 2011

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8 thoughts on “Alraune

  1. Her arms reaches ever out
    But never mistake her true intent
    for all men quaver when they see those limbs
    for they know time left for them has all but spent
    measured only by the rope used to set them free
    oh embracing limbs of the hangman’s tree

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