In the shadows she waits,
A dark figure with bony gates.
Santa Muerte, revered by some,
A skeleton queen, her power's not numb.
Her worshippers bring offerings and praise,
To the one who guides them through life's dark maze.
She is death, but not to be feared,
For with her comes protection, love, and a listening ear.
Though some may shun her name,
She remains a force, steady and untamed.
Santa Muerte, death's sweet embrace,
A symbol of power, and unyielding grace.
About the Creator
St. Tiffy
In the shadows of the midnight moon,
A poet's heart began to bloom.
With words that danced upon the page,
She painted tales of joy and rage.
Quoth
Unnoticed, the clock struck into the next day. Before my eyes, as midnight came and went, the words on the pages over which I poured blurred together. Meaningless under my over-tired gaze, they looped around themselves, slowly winding lines of text twisting themselves into knots as I watched, barely awake enough to do more than notice the change.
By Alexander McEvoy5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
A saint of death, that is unusual. i really enjoyed the read.