This was the second poem the Oracle gave me yesterday. I didn’t get around to posting it, but having read the poems of my sister witches, I will. Once again, Odilon Redon provides an appropriate accompaniment.
The morning after
The air thrills
with a thousand million whispers
drifting from a shining sky,
and all the blood
is swept away in their singing.
Strings play, and tongues follow
the weft of the notes.
Forest leaves murmur
and drip their morning dew
of moon-memories night-scented.
Roses nod their faces
cupped to hold the light,
and the roar and the heat
of man’s barbarity
sinks into the sepulchre
of the holy vengeful earth.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
True Speech! Gaia will bury them deep and cover them with white flowers to channel the heat of the sun into the Land. Let witchery abound!
We all go back to the earth to be transformed into something useful, even the utter shits.
As a semi retired wizard I draw comfort from old sayings – “The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters.” …
“The point of modernity is to live a life without illusions while not becoming disillusioned” – Antonio Gramsci – probably written from his political prison cell.
There’s a saying for everything, that’s the problem. I admit, I have no illusions, so I suppose I won’t ever be disillusioned.
This one is definitely not as bleak as the first, despite the ending. It’s sort of mine backwards. 🙂
There’s a similarity there. I’m glad I persevered with her 🙂
I’m glad you did, too. 🙂
Absolutely perfect 💜
Thanks Willow!
I like the strength of that ending. Beauty and strength. Something humanity is sorely lacking. (K)
She gave me a more positive message. There is always hope.
There is. I have to remember that.
Easy to lose sight of it.