The man must be wary, he must sow and he must reap.
What would God create if he should fall asleep?
At the end of the day, in its final hours,
when you are tired and the house must be in order
and quiet, are you anxious and afraid?
Don't you fear what would happen
if I left a book on the edge of the table,
about to fall,
or the door were ajar, neither open nor closed,
or would my mere presence
evoke the Beast?


Would it paw the carpet before
it trampled your treasures, raging through the rooms,
making mayhem in the garden,
breaking through the rows
of zinnias and marigolds,
scattering their corpses like toy soldiers,
then storming the walls,
shattering the dishes, dropping leaves in the halls,
arguing with the master,
uncovering his deceits
then retiring to the bedroom,
smearing blood across the sheets?


When it entered the garden,
and you looked in its face,
its terrible, hideous, wonderful face,
and you knew what you'd forgotten
and then that you knew:
You knew its name
and that it came
out of you,
it came from your soul,
it came to destroy and it came to make whole.


When the thing you feared did come upon you,
would you not welcome it,
honor it, prepare it a feast?
You have harnessed the creature, at the very least.
But I know who it worships; I would sing it to sleep,
adorning it with wildflowers and kisses hard and sweet,
hand in hand, with the Keeper of Beast.

~XineAnn