Angels of
Death
On iron wings, a
duality: ethereal
beauty entwined
with titanium strength.
Cloaked in armor,
angels of death glide
through smoke,
chooser of the slain.
Bodies lay as
empty shells, mere
carcasses lining
the battleground
in decay— until
the deceased are deemed
worthy: Valkyrie
carry souls of the dead
over the bridge
joining life and death,
to
Valhalla.
Legacy
Wild women dance
naked
under the blood
moon. Witch.
Bearing witness to
exquisite
power befalls a
threat
to those lacking.
Human flesh
consumed by fated
flames
at the stake is a
legacy buried
in earth, ash and
bone. Destiny,
inevitable: the
mother, the maiden,
and the crone. Hecate
takes
the hands of the
fallen, guiding
this witch as one
of Her own,
home.
Fallen
As night slips
away and the sun wakes,
I sit on the edge
of dawn,
a fallen angel
lost to this earth.
With clipped wings
and a missing halo,
I
was safest in slumber—
a far-off
dreamland offers more solace
than stark reality
ever could. Quiet
screams are empty
pleads: with grace,
restore a tainted
innocence. Show me
mercy.
Welcome me home.
Humans are
extracted like moths to a flame
from everyday life
to survive, to fight. Left
to the Forest of
Lost Souls, only the steadfast
can find their way
back. Enchanted by ethereal
allure, captives
must escape the Shadow’s cage
to endure the
Fae’s labyrinth. A perpetual mirage
of surrounding
illusion— hallucinations become
tokens of past
tragedy, markers of one’s humanity,
precious.
Beauty from Pain
Wildflowers grow
feral and free
among the grave:
shreds of beauty
in times of death
and despair—
a fleeting
distraction
from the bones
buried deep down
in this very
ground.
There is an art to
saying good-bye.
No comments:
Post a Comment