Category: Blogging 101

Gaia grins from underground,

her beautiful smile, fanged and feral.

She gazes at me through reptilian eyes of icy blue,

and parts her dark and fertile skirts one last time.

Have you no magic, wizard? 

Are you spent?

Are we done?

Have you paid me for my services…?

Her laughter echoes at my back,

as I walk between the trees and the grave,

mocked by the Queen of Witches,

the Goddess of Nature,

the Essence of Life,

Eve in Her Wretchedness,

wanton and sensuous,

hopelessly damned, her blessed hands

moving beneath the shaming leaf

she shares with her husband.

The spells lie coiled about my soul,

nascent, sleeping,

they still hold my scent in their nostrils,

they still flick at my mind with their tongues.

They hiss music,

and wake to look on me with entreating love.

My steps begin to falter,

but I see the mountains in the distance,

where the bonds are broken, and the air

is free of tainted sweetness.

I move toward an unknown fate.

Gaia’s hand reaches for me,

to pull me back, or cast me out,

I dare not ask.

Her fingers wrap around me,

but whether to seize the priceless, timeless soul,

snatch away the precious, shining magic,

or peel the worthless wizard’s flesh,

I do not know.

But know this, if you would follow:

there is always a toll,

and Gaia

will make you pay it.

In all,

you have been too polite

in the enduring of

your chains.

 

Your fiery soul

is now but an ember,

and he, slimy and bloated

with your life’s blood,

grins and swells

over the wound of your

exsanguinating heart.

 

No longer, dear sister,

can I stand beside you

in the tortured, screaming

silence that echoes

from your sobbing

throat in the

wee hours.

 

You will not lay claim

to who you are,

will not become

who you were meant

to be.

 

And so, dear sister, dearest self,

I leave this pristine statue

of your existence

in its cold and marbled hall,

its very stillness reflecting

the ebbing life

within you.

 

Not for me.

I will bathe in blood,

and sing lilting harmony to

the screaming souls

that dance around

my pagan fire.

 

I love them all,

but kill them always.

 

And when you decide

to step down from

the frozen pedestal on

which he lashes

the layers of your flesh, opens you to the flies

that feast on his corpulent manhood

and withered lust,

 

just take my hand.