Deep drum beats and a bass line that
Arouses my steps under dark clouds;
I skip through puddles to a beat that is
Magickal, that only the wailing of a guitar brings.
The zealot in me raises her face to the wind,
Ice blots the morning apples of her cheeks
And freezes her to the bone; but there is a wildfire in her that
Flirts with the dark sky and dares it to stop her fanatic dance.

Mud under my shoes,
Water soaking my skin,
Wind piercing my lungs,
Fire gathering in my veins.
A cacophony of instruments melds together like
Covens under the full moon; scrambles my brain with
Frivolity as pools of fresh rain soak my socks;
The wild goddess in my heart whirls for her Sacred Mother.

A zealot am I, She spins me, makes me dizzy,
Twirls out my own magick to fuse with Her Spirit;
To bleed all I have into Her Tome of Life with every
Foot fall through Her storm.
Cleanse me, Goddess; grant me release through the Serenity of Song.
Your icy winds open the eye in my soul; I take in Your Breath and
It sweeps through my senses to keep the flame in my heart alight.

O Maiden, Mother and Crone.
O Daughter, Midwife, and Sage.
I have awoken.

This song is pretty wicked.

Photo by Graham Ruttan on Unsplash


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