Two women confounded my life on Earth
One was lovely, kind, nurturing, and nice
The other, the flesh of Lilith's own flesh
Why such a contrast, I often wondered?
The woman clothed with the sun often slept
Leaving only the woman dressed in night
That amalgamation of moon and stars
To deceive and enchant my proud young mind
Such women were made only for themselves
Not for a husband, child, anyone else
Desperately they seek their egos' wants
To fill their souls' characteristic void
Emptiness inside, a prize for many
The inside of a white porcelain cup
Will I ever escape from this woman?
Will she forever have her fill of me?