30 Dec 2015

The Fey in Dawn

-Drafted in December 2015

Summon the wyrm.

The beast is unleashed.
Which quiet forming envelops the still now?

Hush, children (who may cry at the coming), there will be no blood this time.

The coven are not coming, the tarot lays untold.
No shattered glass panes, no prisoners in confused minds, nor untrustworthy love in dark hearts.

The beast unleashed is the soaring gryphon of hope, a Fey whose heart beats passionately to the tune of life.

The demon will sing, and the trumpets will remain by sides. In sole places music drifts, in cool places...

Crackling fires in Autumn, open hearts in the Summer of forgetting.

For I am born not to predict what you say to me. I am born to live. I am born not to waste my time enabling you with the power to destroy the world (which contains my heart). I am not born a puppet, and I will not be your fool.

I will forget, in time, the pain you've caused me. I will forgive, in time, the piercing cuts of fear, the intolerant stance on grey, the denial of truth and faith, the acquiescence to self.

And my wings will soar, burning, and one day you may hear the far sing of the beast, still saying "I accept you completely, Queen of Dark and Light", and you could launch and follow if you ever wanted.

And my wings burn from the fierce dogma you chant, that there is only Light, that it is Wrong to speak of defects. Well I see the knives in your cloaks, my love, and I see your wings are burning also.

I feel the broken clock that marks the time.

And there is blood still in my soul, and my ears see wrong from the searing.
My hands I find tremble slightly, and I know my words are hurtful.
There have been countless sorries, once more and none.
For I will not crawl anymore.

Deus in absentia. The forgotten depart, and the world is clear and bright.
Love will not lie, and I wish love well always.

Begin again.

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