May the blessing of the Goddess And all her Gods be upon you tonight I respected the Gods- if they existed And when suited to me I ask for their assistance Since I haven’t attended anything of this sort It had been years and years Today is the day on which we celebrated the end And the beginning of the great cycle The Great Goddess gave birth to her firstborn Her son, Lord of the Gods Love was brought into the world And it banished the chaos from the Gates You need to sit through the procession of the Gods Then you will be free at last Every year, nine children were chosen There was something charming to it If a child stopped before you You received the blessing of the God And the small gift the child carried as a symbol Of the Gods favor, pay atuention I bestow upon you this golden arrow As a symbol of your power and grace It was made of solid gold

Whimsical and wonderful, the fool wanders around Full of magic and wisdom, his limits no no bound Youthful passion, a thirst for power Power or knowledge ,Self discovery or damnation Not even the Fool knows But that is his genius for he is genius unlimited He goes where his heart takes him He goes where his thirst leads him The Fool The Fool O wondrous Fool! Lead us the way to freedom and gnosis Show us the path to a life truly lived!

sometimes there is no need to stray past the lines they give you, that they paint across your face with red ochre that bleeds into your skin like the blood of blackberries— invisible boundaries in the name of the process and structure that form a clear whole, that established reason and triumph and the path to success. sometimes there is a blessing hidden in the blind order of tradition, that most systems are placed in good measure and the earth wants you to be grounded in moral and not subversiveness. sometimes to sit with a closed crown atop your head and a straight line in your future brings benefit— but never forget to be soft and not brittle or else you will be at risk of cracking like past pagan statue heads. never forget to be soft unlike the fallen hellenistic religions, soft unlike the blood soaked roman christians, remembering that every empire has a ending, and grass roots of innovation eventually shoot up through their graves to become the new beginning. and the lines they give you will surround the lone figure, who never deviates from their iron sights, who finds themselves sitting atop a humble throne, raising their right hand towards the empyrean sky.

I watched you die once as prey, your new-grown antlers catching sunlight just before they caught the earth. I was the lioness. I watched you die once as soldier, your stern mouth softening as the bullet made limbs limp just before the mountain claimed you. I was the winter wind. I watched you die once as lover, your hands reaching for a heart that wasn't there just before the asphalt took you. I was the car, the road, the night— everything that kills everything that turns away. I'll watch you die seven-fold seven more: in every hunt, in every war, in every kiss that tastes of grief— I am the tooth that finds your throat, the stone that splits your skull, the love that bleeds you dry.

dark and creeping, totally ending, like a blindness in a fog with nowhere to go but straight ahead, yet your viewpoint is not ended, just changed, a new direction has taken place, where you are now you will soon not be, where you yearn for you may achieve.

It has tender petals, never has been dry, always fresh as a daisy. It blooms with light, and wants to bring light. The golden days were its favorite, where the flower would stretch its petals, welcoming the wind and the rain, even when they were not gentle on it. It absorbs them gracefully, and returns them as a meadow’s essense. Till the sun stopped glowing on the petals. It shined a glint of fire, burning the rosy petals slowly. The rose took the blame, hoping for one more golden day. Except, the gloomy days took over, and the petals were too burnt, they had been let down, by the one thing, that used to keep them arised. The heartbroken, deceived rose, was a fool by blindness. In the present time, it awaits in the wind. The flower is scared to bloom once again, because the night comes, it closes, and its dust fades into the air.

Death is a jump scare And the light you see behind the silouhette of a raven It’s the look in his eye when he says, “I don’t care what you’re saying.” Grim reality— Robes that are heavy as heavy as many souls They can carry. And a moon like the sun, Unusual, strange and terrifyingly beautiful When we become like a python And hide these inevitable changes— Death laughs, And the laugh is louder than reality. That’s why we are scared Of change. And death itself is a trap door, A least desirable friend— who always gets what they want. — If you knew him Better: you’d probably be Better too! while simultaneously realizing You’re on a treadmill going nowhere To the irresistible horizon— One, that never stops. And is brighter than the essence of life even, (Alone.)

In the deck of cards, there lies a symbol, A figure shrouded in mystery and awe, The Death tarot card, ominous and solemn, It heralds a change, a shift in the law. It’s dark cloak billows in an unseen breeze, A skeletal hand reaches out with finality, A white rose blooms beneath its bony knees, Symbolizing rebirth, a new reality. Death comes for all, it spared no soul, But in its wake, new life begins to grow, The old must die for the new to unfold, It’s a cycle we all must come to know. Embrace the change, the Death card whispers, Let go of what no longer serves your soul, In the darkness, find the light that glimmers, And allow to once again be whole. So fear not the Death tarot cards grim facade, For within its shadows lies a promise bright, Of transformation, growth, and dreams unmarred, Guiding you towards your inner light.

Cries in an empty room No one answers the weeping. I feel too alone. Sharp tones and frayed nerves. I lash out at them in pain. She withdraws confused. Sat apart ignored. Too much said without a word. Tension grows in quiet.

The Devil took a trip to the world of men, A delightful journey to satisfy his lusts. Upon arrival, He claimed a charming face, And put it over his own. He flashed each mortal a wink, And pulled them into his arms. “Welcome!” He cried, As he pulled them close. “Welcome,” he murmured, As they fell in love. “Welcome,” he whispered, As he reached for their hearts. A girl moaned with pleasure At his practiced touch. He threaded a needle, And jabbed her tender heart. Taking hold of the thread he pulled, And she danced. And by the time her pleasure faded, He was lost in the crowd. He found lonely mortals; He tousled their hair And tasted their lips. His fingers were cold, His tongue colder, And his heart coldest of all. He slipped needles of ivory bone Into dozens of hearts. He masqueraded as a lover, Pocketing a full cast of puppets. “Welcome,” he crooned. “Welcome,” he taunted. “Welcome,” he sneered. He pulled at their strings, Feasting on the screams. He laughed, As they wept, And applauded, As they danced. And when the puppets bored him, He’d yank a string too hard, And a heart would break free of a corpse. He’d bite down, And laugh louder As blood dripped from his chin. The Devil took a trip to the world of men, And played at being a puppeteer. The Devil took a trip to the world of men, And found it quite to his liking. The Devil took a trip to the world of men, And found a feast awaiting him. “Welcome.”