Autumn winds play with skeletal leaves. They skitter about your feet like discarded paper- like stillborn poetry. Your eyes are caught by a bright patch of moss and you struggle to keep it in focus. Your thoughts pile up like carcasses, and everything is dying. Everything is dying.
Dark sister I Am. Weird sister. Ancient sister, Holy One. I make art of spells, weave dreams into words and I live between worlds where the silence is found in the stillness, where light seeps through cracks in reality.
Midsummer I walked with myself to the lake, in the dark of the black moon rising.
Black silk I wore, down to the ground and a crown of red roses and amethyst. Naked was she as the morning she came to the world, but for a long string of pearls wrapped thrice round her delicate neck.
Sister, draw you down the Moon. Stand naked before her. Be not afraid, but stand fierce in your glory.
Let her fill your veins, bless you with grace and bathe you in mysteries. Let her rule your tides and drink in all your sins. Offer her your blood and songs and she will be your mirror; she will show yourself to you.
I am empty. The purity of potential, the zero at the beginning. I sit and feel, the rain beats my heart into sweet submission and I am nothingness, I am a vessel. A void. The tears come, punctuating my apathy and I am a cloud dripping sweet nothingnesss onto the floor, and I am grasping for something but there is only the purity of potential.