Madonna I Forsake Thee

unhand me silver moon
i am not your own

let loose your garish straps
wrapping me mummy-like

to be kept in
the tomb of your praises

yes, they grow like
giant weeds blooming daggers

hugging themselves
in blind supplication

dying at the behest of your
unfeeling pride to which

many had lied, professing
to be your very own

children waxing cold with
every kiss of the serpentine wind

nay, stay in the luminescence
of your only vanity, your beauty

but leave me alone
in this clear-cut knowledge that

i am not your own
i never was, i never will

(here, everything is still)