Ancestral ghosts gather around the amber fire
watch the burning words, gold glittering pyre
She holds the empty heads just right
Then tilts them back into the night
Puts Her black lips to their ears
Where only She and They can hear
Fills them with long howls of wolves
Until their capricious lost souls are full
She stands upon their low earthen stoop
While they sleep in fitful ominous loops
They are unaware of their obvious gift
Under my deep brow, with sweat adrift
A viable current deeper than any abyss
It's where souls have long gone amiss
It's where the river of gold is found
The night labyrinth underneath, my dark underground
The wind speaks loudly against the glass
I'm just a mortal I say, aghast
But She is Queen, She is nigh
Traveling swiftly through this half-moon sky
She cannot be stopped, nor turned away
Where Her influence is sure to sway
I'm letting it go, holding Her hand
Trust in the slow sliding of sand
In a tilted hourglass running like salt
Fate in the night cannot be bought
About the Creator
Carole Anzolletti
Creativity has always saved me from getting lost in the tide of the world and has put me in touch with a like-minded tribe who can come down to the depths I once felt were solitarily my own. Surviving and thriving creatively are promises.
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