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The movements of her hands were so surreal. Her fingers danced upon the twilight backdrop. The smell of dog always lingering. She was the Mistress of Beasts after all…Crows caw a rarely used speech in her presence…They brood her time and mine..Watching the Night Mother play with an insignificant demigod…seeming to mislead him, but she was actually preparing him for his greatest battle…

All the planets and moon aligned

She gave an eternal sigh

Her tall figure dematerialized into the predawn air…the mist pulled into my lungs and began to burn her never ending memory into my coming eternity

The mocking and the laughter

No one could forget that

The hurling of stones

It’s why there are bruises on her back

Splinters in her jagged torn flesh

The crucification of christ paled in comparison. Her father couldn’t provide the cloth. The one with the proof of her godly sanctity. The hate of the ignorant men

In charge of a false/bastardized ideal

Pious deity; idolized tepid masculinity

The beast shunned for polar identity

Life on fire and bright as the sky

During noonday Sunday in July

Her will—the witch of the night—at peace

The stars shall align with the moon again

It’s over for now my darling