New Moon

Oh Silent Torch,

The forth face

in darkness,

Stand upon the

crossroads,

Mighty Hecate,

Fooled they are

by your triadic

image,

I salute the four

of you.

Hail upon this night

of the Black One,

An eclipse of true

mystery,

Vengeance born,

In the name of Gabriel,

sung upon the stillness,

still,

silent,

A panther,

nightmare,

is upon him.

The most deadly curse,

is silent.

Treachery born,

now dead.

This threshold

between death and

rebirth,

This liminal gate,

Night of the Black Torch,

Full Moon-Shadow,

Let the blood flow

between velvet legs,

Oh Hecate,

for the Rites are Hers,

And the Priestess,

Serpents in the sky,

stands upon the Prominence

of Black Fire.

 

Shadow Spirit

I scare you,

you said.

Trembling,

but hiding it.

“I scare a lot

of people,”

I whispered,

nodding softly.

But, is it a

reflection of you

that frightens?

Like a mirror?

Or, is it the reason,

the voice,

the message,

the answer,

the future?

“I never knew a

voice could be

in my head,

and from you,

at the same time,”

you said.

“Then whose voice is it?”

I asked.

“Who are you again?”

you asked.

“I am you,” I answered.

“I am you.”

If You Remember

Do you love me enough

to fight for me?

Oh man,

as your forefathers did,

carried away by

my Valkyries,

to sit on a throne

of heroism,

they died rather than

succumb

to the vile lie

of the One Son,

for they knew that

my body contains

many Suns,

but I am all.

Would you return to my ways?

Live your life in

harmonia?

Honor and Service

the mantle you wear?

Or do you seek comfort

in your enslavement,

do you hang your head

with the shame of your

cowardice,

pretending it is a prayer.

A true man knows

he is born to be a hero,

and his only way there

is his service to his Queen,

for to serve another man

is to be a pawn,

and to serve a god

is to be a slave,

but to serve a goddess

is to know what life is,

to feel her force in

everything,

and to die,

again and again,

as if thrust in the depths

of the woman he loves,

reborn to fight another day,

and live, glorious,

with joy.

Your Goddess Calls

Oh man, drink me,

like the luscious wine you swirl,

delicately sifting over searching tongue,

cherished in its crystal glass,

lovingly adored by you.

Call to me,

with your fiery loins,

for I do not forbid you this,

So that you may explode

your vision white,

the only sound you hear,

your panting,

With my name whispered,

as your hand caresses,

supple curves,

tender ports,

in which your horizons

expand,

Taste me, Man,

like the delicate morsels

your hunger craves,

for I nourish that which

resounds deep within you,

aching,

searching,

longing,

all the while I stand before you,

unrecognized,

forgotten,

I was always here,

it is you who left me,

secretly adoring me

with your probing senses,

seeking me,

forbidden,

but not by me,

by you,

Oh man,

forbidden,

yet calling,

you are,

forever yearning,

but I am here,

waiting,

for you to remember.

Savage Child

You can hear their echo screams

as the winds carry them,

beings, who will never roam

again, whose lives we

squandered,

selfishly,

failed stewards,

insanely playing

in the filth of our indulgence,

while our mother screams

behind the door,

beaten,

bruised,

her blood filling the water

as we, her abuser,

pin her down.

Every woman bears the mark

of her disregard,

her subjugation,

once exalted upon a throne

of our knowing,

worshipped for providing us

with life,

she drowns in the sea,

her blood spilling,

her children dying,

as we sit idle by,

afraid to see we are

killing her,

Our mother,

We, Her children,

savagely.

When we could love her,

care for her,

but we are too important,

though would not exist,

without her,

no, we are too important,

though will not exist,

without her.

And when they say

there’s still time,

they are lying,

failed species,

because there is still time for her,

but there is no time

for the ego of mankind

which consumes us all.

Proserpine

Can they not see

the darkness that surrounds you,

swept away, you were,

to another of your “Firsts”,

though unlike your first steps,

your first smile,

your first kiss,

you are thrust under

the arm of Hades,

struggling against the unseen walls

of Earthly fortress,

like Ophelia, drifting away

to nothing,

no longer a babe,

though they think you

a child still;

This threshold of

the unwilling bride,

wed we are to

the darkness of

transition,

never knowing the other side,

or if light will greet and restore us,

or leave us buried in a

cold hard grave,

I shudder for you,

at the sentiments

echoed

“these are the best years of your life,”

and

“you have everything ahead of you,”

and

“you have everything going for you,”

for though they see you as a child,

you rock and tremble at the

mountain and force building

within you,

yearning to be free,

not knowing where to run,

just run,

only,

alone is the only truth you know,

and solace flows as tears in the night,

silently,

not knowing why the dreams

that gave you comfort

died,

leaving only ashes in their wake.

You are lost in a sea

of familiar faces,

no one seeing you

as they smile as

they always have.

Not knowing that your

robot smile

only echoes their blindness,

as you walk the halls

as a ghost,

haunting your

child self,

not yet free,

not yet ready,

just

waiting.

For can they not see

that your pain is as real

as anyone’s?

Your darkness as

dark,

and frightening?

And though your mother’s voice

calls from the Earth above,

it gives no comfort,

for you are away,

not the child you were,

and

not yet the woman

you will become.

Never being warned

of the silent screams

of the blooming flowers.

Dwellers

How can they not see you,

transforming the shadows

into lairs of opaque

trepidation,

driving even the

crawling night creatures

into the light cast

from a lonely lamp,

patient, you wait,

all of you,

never needing time,

you have no use for it,

not making a sound

when others can’t see you

as they pass by,

nervously looking back

at nothing.