When Hekate walks the land,
The dogs and the Jackals howl,
Witches bark and cry,
Offering up our own blood and hearts.
Her Horde knocks on all the doors,
And sometimes they leave after taking their fill.
But this time they remain.
They cling to the beads and the wooden frames
Whispering the things you do not want to hear.
Death is coming.
The Myrtle eaters have left their tears for you to sip.
And when you take a drink
You see the threads that have been weaved
By the Three.
…The Crow comes down in the field,
And lands at your feet,
Gifting you a feather,
that tells of loss and sorrow….
It is hard to accept what you see in the world’s that they create,
They are illusions, lies…
You fight it like a fly fights a spider
But when it is Deipnon,
She comes with Her knife
And cuts the thread.
Jesse died on Deipnon 17 May 2015, a loyal, brave hound and beautiful friend.
All writing and images copyright 2015 of Nightshade author of The Purple Broom