‘I’m the devil’ said she
In the snow laced nightgown.
‘I am the one who picks your soul and brings it to hell’
She sung as she pulls a rose from the briar bush.
Brushed her shinning hair back, she had
no horns, but no halo all the same.

The devil took your bleached hand in hers and lead you to a grove
Of yellow apples ready to be plucked
And under the red morning sun rise,
She gathered the shinning ones in a wicker basket.
You walked the rows but the basket never seemed to fill
And though your stomach growled, she never offered a bite.
She set the basket down by the sea and let the wind wash around her
To which she raised her stain-glass wings and spread her ink feathers.

Iblis sauntered though her garden land without a word in defiance.
Never had you seen a land quite like this
Over-ruled with promise, yet nothing living in sight
besides you and Her.

At last a lonesome stone well.
Surrounded by great pillars lacerated like the devil's feet .
A spiral staircase lead down into a silent hole 
eager scratching against the worn steps echoed to the surface.
The long-fallen angel looked down into this pit with title.
She looked back into your lost eyes, beckoning you to look 
You step to look down into the abyss.

Crawling on the bottom of the well, were beasts that lifted their bones to the light
Without eyes to see the way, they stumbled round aimlessly.
Without a mouth to scream ‘Repent!’ lend us back our eyes to see your light!’
You held your hallowed chest as you look down upon the sick
The devil laughed solemnly by your side.
‘I would not fear those who can’t even see within them, my dear,
With only noses trained to smell greed, I doubt they can find their way up.’
She lifted one wing and blew a gust at the beasts
They, like paper dolls, flew into the shadows.
And the ones untouched by the wind, ran back on hind legs.
With a hand on your back, she guided you to the first step.

You pushed away and pleaded at her feet.
The angel stood quietly with her hands clasped.
There were no emotion in her black eyes,
But it was solitude that hung over her like fog
She looked to the side where swords, rusted and chipped lay in a pile. 
All the battles she’s fought against those unwilling…
You looked at your own scared hands and bowed.
Salt tears running down your cheeks, you looked at the gray clouds above you.
She reached out and wiped away the tears… 
And handed you a young rose the color of the sun
‘Even stone wears away, my dear’ 
She tells you like a hymn 
‘Keep this beacon with you and it will be my wings
That saves you from the ashen world.’
With your yellow rose against your heart
You walked down the stairs
No monsters greeted you, but the sound of their pain was close
You stepped off the stone into oblivion 
The floor was not made of bone, or meat, or fog
But of wilted roses dropped from millenniums before
By the monsters that where given hope, but gave it up.
You held on tighter to your heart