The Duality of : Mary In A Love Calamity and Judas In Eden

I

Her eyes are everything when gazing into them,
I see the light, enveloped in the fairness of her hair
And she holds my hand so tightly in her air of warmth.
Is it because you're scared?
Or is it nice in there?
Your little heart, I picture it, so comfortable and careless.
I can help you with the ghosts tonight
I'll scare them back into their cold forgetfulness.

She's no where to be seen, yet I feel her every where,
How does she talk with strength when weak and bare?
Her leaves are off and I glare and stare.
She doesn't mind and welcomes me in her arms at night
To kiss and hold each other; there in the light.
"Turn it off," I say! Your knight knows how to fight
In darkness and despair!
There is no need for sight.

Beautiful, like the rose that stems,
Her hair spreads wildly around her head
Forming a sunflower on her bed.
Its all the light we would need to flare
While I kiss her softly there.

I say to her, "Did you feel the chill I had?
My back was sad a tad,
But your lips have changed that
And joy has stretched it flat."

"Your smile, look at it!
It never fails to shine;
Always present in the sky.
Enticing green gardens and lofty vines
Until they rise and bloom into other kinds."

Even now, as the rain comes down,
She looks up at me in her dinner gown
Knowing what she wants from me:
To have my love until she drowns
And drown me too, to have me around.

She whispers, "You are everything to me,"
I yell, " and everything is you!"
And she replies, " but I'm still with Judas, although we're through--
He lives inside me, too."

She bursts, " I love you so!--
Nobody knows!
At night I think of you!--
It surely shows!"

"Everyday I miss you," I say,
"Is another wasted sadly.
But I love you, though I suffer
And I suffer, though I love you madly."

She holds me so I can breath again; with no strain
The life of me comes back to see that: pain is slain.
Now she must go, she says, kissing me in vain
In vain because: my fire, roaring, isn't quenched by rain.

II

But now, dear Judas, he's somewhere getting blessed,
Why is his advice so helpless?
Could it be its creator is loveless?
Could it be his fire is of weakness?
And what of his certain bleakness?
He thinks I'm blinded by his fog and mistiness.

What does he feed his witnesses
To keep them so awake and ready for dishonesties?
I can only guess abrasiveness
With a touch of callousness.

He claims to count by twos and tie his shoes
By the young age of thirty-two.
He can even walk-- not for long-- but enough to cause abuse,
And when hes on the prowl his eyes are different hues
Changing colors like chameleons.

I look around your house and see those things kept by the arrogant:
Wooden artifacts of societies that died like ants.
Do you treasure them, or the way they died?:
From a fell swoop of stomping feet-- they cried!

You shrewd man, you're cold as ice--
No!-- Hot as ice!
And with a fine disguise.
You never learned much, I can see it in your clueless eyes
But even you know: all that has a value is of no price.

You let air in your lungs and say,
" Its not where you're going--
Its where you're from!"
And the noblest of men laugh with glum,
Thinking that the opposite wasn't wrong.

Take a dive Judas,
Or take another train.
Because you won't know what hit you
When you come this way.